The Despised Ones
by Morgstang
Summary: Amestris is overrun by an enemy country's military. Alchemy is banned and Alchemists are hunted down and executed after renouncing their 'sins'. Can the Hero of the People save them? Or does Edward need saving first?
1. The Hero of the People is Dead

I can't believe this happened. I just can't fathom how it happened. To this day, I'll suddenly stop and think, _'This can't have happened, it didn't happen.'_ I've been denying it for so long that those words have started to lose their meaning, but I still can't accept the truth. It can't have happened…

But it did. Central fell to their army - our capital city, placed directly in the center of the country, hence the name Central. Many people would call it the heart of Amestris, not only because the main Headquarters of the Military was there, but because that cluster of buildings and bustling atmosphere summed up everything that is Amestris – power, strength and pride. Central is the soul of our country, the power behind the land, which only confuses me more as to why on earth they would attack there. You'd think it was suicide to declare a war and launch an attack straight for the center of such a great land. That's what we all thought, anyway… until they succeeded.

I myself would never call Central the heart of this land; to me, there's been too much death to be called a heart. Everything I ever saw of the city was hateful soldiers and state alchemists, the dogs of the military and the thugs of the government. I promised myself and my little brother that I would never become a despised state alchemist, that'd I'd live up to the rule: _"State Alchemists, be thou for the people." _I cannot tell you how many state alchemists failed to live up to that. That's why they called me "the hero of the people", even though the most important thing to me was always my little brother and our own selfish goal.

But right now, the hero of the people is dead to them. No one could stop the attack. As much as we tried and despite all the power we used against them... it was all a waste. Amestris is currently overridden by rogues and enemy soldiers that have ruthlessly crushed our country. Tiny, backcountry villages like Resembool and the forgotten ruins of Ishbal seem to be the only places where it's safe… and good luck getting there. The train stations are filled with patrolling enemies, their sharp, suspicious eyes everywhere all at once, and the security checks just to get on the train… heh, have fun getting by them. I've already scoped out the area. I barely escaped with my head intact. Escaping on foot is just as bad, even in disguise and hidden amongst the hoards of refugees. There seem to be checkpoints where the soldiers take up, sipping cups of tea whenever their commanding officers aren't watching, but nonetheless alert enough to be worth watching out for. Hiding in a crowd doesn't work very well when every last person is searched and ID'd.

I discovered that one first hand; due to my awesome luck I just had to get captured. And as you could probably guess, the prized Fullmetal alchemist, "The Hero of the People", was right at the front of the soldiers' bingo list, along with all my associates, including the legendary flame alchemist. I guess we were thick as thieves back in the day, so it's logical enough to assume I might know where he's hiding out… but interrogation really isn't my idea of fun.

Especially when you don't know anything. These idiotic soldiers automatically suspect we are all part of this resistance and we all know where every state alchemist resides. I can understand why I would have joined the alchemists' rebellion though. After all, alchemy runs in my very blood. It may be a science, but it's the closest thing to a religion that I have. It's almost all that's left to me, and they're even trying to take that away.

Alchemy is forbidden. Alchemy is despised by these soldiers and their leader. They have come to believe it is some kind of witchcraft, hideous and terrifying. I've tried and tried to tell them how wrong they are, that it's not magic but the purest form of science there is. These bastards won't believe a word I say. Every alchemy book in Central's massive libraries was burned, and you should see the "Purification Ceremonies" They're some kind of private ritual. Everyone's got their wild ideas of what they do to you. I've got my very own one soon. These religious freaks must "purify" us of our "sins" before we are executed. We also, I have heard, have to "renounce our god". As if an alchemist would believe in that shit! I am not renouncing a god because I have none. And I'm sure as hell not going to believe in _their _god. Alchemy is a science. It's _my_ science, and I won't give it up.

I made a promise to my brother and I got his body back. But now I am making another promise: I will never give up. I will get this place back to normal, someday. I _will _get my country back. And I will personally make sure the leader of this corrupt military gets his throat slit.

… I really hope the last thing he sees in this world is the blue flash of alchemy.

**Chapter One: Captured **

Edward felt something hard and cold jab him painfully in the shoulder. "Hey, kid. Wake up."

"I'm already awake," Ed growled, rolling his bruised shoulder with a groan. He looked up and met the eyes of a man in a private's uniform, his rifle's positioned in the younger man's face. Edward instinctively flinched away as he stared down the black barrel, and the man took the opportunity to grab the stocks that bound the prisoner's hands, keeping them apart and stopping him from causing any damage with his alchemy The wooden board dug painfully into his wrists as he was lifted to his feet, but he refused to make a sound in front of the private. The man couldn't have been that much older than him, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two… and he still had his pride.

The man grabbed the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the prisoner's tent, leaving him struggling to keep his footing. The place Ed had been housed in for what felt like eternity could hardly even be considered a tent, more of a scrap of tarpaulin on four posts with no walls and numerous rips in the ceiling. Such a pathetic gesture of shelter didn't exactly help with the sand blowing up in their faces. Edward's mouth felt gritty with dirt within seconds, and he absentmindedly clamped his teeth and unclamped them, listening to the crunch of dirt.

"Where are we going?" Edward asked. The man's grip tightened on the back of Edward's neck at the hoarse sound of the alchemist's voice, and he shoved him forward with unnecessary roughness.

"We're getting your I.D. checked and you're getting a mark. Now shut up."

Edward did not like the sound of that, but he reluctantly obeyed the man's command and remained silent. Ed and the man stumbled through the sand, passing by many tents that were unsurprisingly a lot more substantial than his own. Clusters of soldiers sat around small fires, rubbing their hands over the flames as they talked and joked softly, many of them shooting wary glances at the prisoner as he passed. Ed felt the wind picking up sand and pelting him with it, as if even the elements had turned against him, and he shivered despite himself. He spotted a decent-looking tent on the other side of the campsite, and had long since guessed that this was where he was headed before he was shoved through and, finding the tent high enough, warily straightened.

An official-looking man wearing a uniform different than the private's turned to eyeball the disheveled alchemist with a stark gaze, before looking away as if bored already. Edward eyed him back with an equally baleful stare, scanning the uniform for any sign of exactly who he was facing. The man's clothing carried several medals on his shoulder, and was a black color, unlike the private's dirty gray. Shiny black boots made Ed think the man spent more time polishing his feet in the mornings than he did giving a shit about Amestris and its starving people. _One of the brass, then._

The man shifted and Ed noticed he was holding a battered leather book in one arm. Taking a closer look, he easily recognized it as a bingo book. There was no doubt whose picture the man was scrutinising right then.

"Take off his shirt," he barked without interest, still looking down at the open book in his hands.

Ed groaned, but didn't resist as he felt the shirt being yanked up over his head. The torn fabric was too weak to stand the abuse, though, and it tore off at the sleeve and ended up being discarded to one side. Which now left him in shorts. Edward's teeth ground together as he restrained himself from punching the private's face in. The bastards could have at least left him with the dignity of a shirt.

"Automail left leg and automail right arm. Blond, light brown/gold eye color, small stocky build. Multiple scars from life in the military." The young alchemist resisted the urge to squirm when the man looked up from the book to give him a cursory glance, his eyes lingering on the exposed shoulder port, seemingly interested in the way the nuts and bolts connected straight into the boy's collarbone and ribs. It was a while before those dark eyes bothered looking up to meet his glare. "It seems you cut your hair and dyed it brown, but I do believe we have a match... isn't that right? Fullmetal _Alchemist?_"

"Wow, congratulations. You figured it out," Edward sneered, eyes glinting in barely controlled anger. Ed had cut his hair off short and dyed it brunette not long after the invasion was over; it had been hard to cut off the brain that was such a large part of his identity, but by that time, he'd do anything to keep his identity a secret. But it seemed these idiots were smarter than they looked… not difficult, considering how most of them looked like total dumb-asses.

The man smirked and stood up, folding his book with a satisfied snap and placing it under his arm. He stalked forward, though not, Ed noticed, within range of the Fullmetal's fists. "It's an honour. I want to personally give you your mark."

Unperturbed, the prisoner leered back with equal confidence. "What the fuck is a _mark_?"

"You'll see. Well… now we know who you are, it would be rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Colonel Brock Robeshaw." Ed suppressed a snigger at the pompous air he gave to his ridiculous name. However unfunny his situation, it was worth a bit of laughter to see the fury on the Colonel's face. "On the other hand, I don't believe we have your name. You see, someone burned your files down at the HQ in Central. I wonder who would do that."

Edward smirked. The Colonel Bastard was covering his back? Though he'd never say it to that shithead's face, Edward had to admit he really hoped Mustang was still alive.

"My name is none of your _goddamned _business!" he replied tartly, his voice rising with passion as he watched Robeshaw flinch back slightly. He laughed in the man's face. What a bunch of goons! How the hell had these losers managed to take over their country?! The memory of Central falling made the laughter drain from his face. _How did they…?_

The Colonel's confidence returned as he saw the misery trail across Edward's face. "You'd better watch your insolent little mouth! Come with me." Misguidedly assuming it was his threat that had made his prisoner shut up, Robeshaw grinned and suddenly grabbed the boy's ragged hair to drag him bodily out of the tent. The Colonel brought him out back and two men appeared from nowhere to grab each of Ed's arms. Watching Robeshaw walk off towards one of the many fires burning nearby, Ed began to have a sinking feeling. Glancing around, he saw the two men restraining him give him a wary glance, their grips tightening. The man holding his automail arm seemed especially hesitant but grabbed it regardless. Feeling fear rise unwanted in his chest, Ed began to wonder what they were restraining him for until he saw it. Robeshaw had retrieved a long iron pole, an insignia engraved at the end. It was a branding iron, and it was glowing cherry red with heat.

_Oh shit! _Ed started thrashing against the men's hold as soon as his brain put two and two together. He desperately tried to touch his hands together but the stocks forbade it, the wooden board resisting even his considerable strength.

"Shit! What the fuck is wrong with you guys?!" Ed yelled, twisting, writhing, even trying to bite the man on his right. Anything to get that brand away from him. It radiated deadly heat even from so far away and he cringed back as the Colonel slowly swung it up to chest-height. He gestured something to one of the men and they pulled Ed's shoulder down. They were going to brand the back of his shoulder?!

"What the hell? What's the sense of _this?! _Let go! Stop!" Ed screamed but no one listened, as if they were _used_ to seeing people being branded. Ed gritted his teeth and heard one last crunch before a flame of agony ignited on his shoulder. The pain was almost too much. He gritted his teeth and felt the searing pain like millions of little needles piercing the spot where the iron was. He could feel bile rise in his throat but he swallowed it and took the pain, the world spinning before his eyes. He would not scream. No matter how much it hurt, he wouldn't make a scene. He wouldn't let them win. This was nothing.

_This pain is nothing compared to what Al had to endure. _

His knees gave in as he felt the brand being pulled away, his melted flesh sticking to the iron being ripped off. Though the pressure was gone, the burning didn't let up, let alone cease. Ed felt more bile coming up and he retched onto he ground, unable to stop the urge anymore.

The men released him with mutters of disgust and he fell to all fours on the ground, shaking helplessly. He barely managed to wipe his mouth off onto his bare flesh arm before the ground rushed up to meet him, his vision tunneled, and he blacked out.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

When Ed woke up he was face down in the ground. The stocks were still separating his hands, the wooden board digging into his stomach so that it was hard to breathe. Dirt was stuck to his face and he groaned wiping it off on his shoulder. Trying to regain his senses, he sat up and looked around.

He saw several people nearby and, glancing round, realised he was back in the prisoners' tent. Two people huddled around another figure who was sprawled on their front, crying out softly. He could just about make out the flesh burn on their shoulder. By the looks of it he and that person on the ground were the only alchemists. This 'mark' was obviously a marking to signify their particular "brand" of sinners, no pun intended. Ed smirked bitterly to himself. He only wished he'd realised sooner.

The young alchemist straightened out and made to move towards them when he fell gracelessly back down on his rear. Looking at his feet he found them shackled. He swore, then frowned and glanced around surreptitiously. He could easily draw out a transmutation circle on the ground, making a weapon and breaking his bonds, but the numbers of men with guns here were too great. There were at least 3 dozen soldiers in the camp, all with orders to shoot to kill. Carefully, on his metal shoulder, he scrabbled and army-crawled over to the other people.

"What's wrong?"

The people jumped and stared at him. One was a dark skinned woman who didn't even look 30, the other a man with graying hair and a weathered face. Both pairs of eyes were filled with concern.

The man looked back down at the alchemist groaning on the ground, before glaring up at him with renewed fury. "They branded him. Like he was an animal."

Ed scoffed sadly, his eyes distant. "Alchemists to them _are_ animals. They think we're some Satan worshipers or something... the dickheads." He looked down at the oblivious, trembling figure on the ground, frowning slightly. "So… he's an alchemist?"

"Yes, he wasn't part of the state. He just practiced at home."

"How did they find out he used alchemy?"

The woman shook her head bitterly. "You've heard of the rewards they give out for alchemists."

Ed sighed, wincing. "So he got sold out?"

Both of them nodded as the young man on the ground whimpered again. Ed shook his head. Any alchemist could be ratted out to the occupying army for a fair amount of money. Even children who had messed around with the science were sent to concentration camps. But state alchemists…? State alchemists were worth a _lot _of money. He'd come to learn that the hard way, as had all his companions in Amestris's military.

"You were burned too?" The woman asked, looking at his shoulder, which he suddenly noticed had been wrapped in gauze. He nodded. The woman looked surprised. "We heard everyone getting branded – they screamed bloody murder. We never heard you when you went, so…" She trailed off, her meaning plain.

Ed shrugged, regretting the motion as the pain seared again. He swallowed the discomfort down, forcing a weary smile onto his face. "No pain I feel can compare to what my little brother had to endure. Besides… I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of screaming."

The young woman's brown furrowed with concern and she sighed heavily, sympathy in her eyes. "Maybe you should...once in a while, or they'll… break you in. As you said, all they see you as is some kind of animal. They may end up hurting you so bad they'll have to drag you to your… purification ceremony."

Ed made a face, sickened. "_Purification ceremonies_," he muttered under his breath, the two words laced with a wealth of scorn."What a load of bullshit." He turned his head back down towards the kid. His breathing was short and quick. Edward didn't like the look of that. He'd seen people go into shock over much less, and he somehow doubted the prisoners would be afforded medical treatment just to survive until execution. "How old is he?" Ed asked.

"Twelve," The two answered in unison. Ed felt his rage rise. How could they do this to a child? Ed felt his shoulders slacken as he looked up at the tarp flapping above them. He could remember when he giving up being a child at the same tender age, joining the military and becoming the military's lap dog. Just leaving the military to get some time off or find leads on the philosophers stone had been like gnawing his own leash off.

"How old are you?"

Ed blinked, lost in his memories, and looked back down at the woman, "What?"

"I asked how old you are," she repeated.

"Nineteen," he replied simply, neither begging sympathy nor trying to sound grown-up. His own age had ceased to matter to him a long time ago.

"So you are an alchemist?"

"Yeah. I'm a dog of the military," Ed admitted wryly. Usually he wouldn't have told anyone. But it didn't exactly matter anymore; what were they gonna do to him? Shout at him? Hate him? A whole army would rather kill him than look at him. He could cope with whatever these people threw at him.

The man chuckled and looked amused, "A state alchemist? At nineteen? Pull the other one, lad."

Ed laughed too. Why he would lie about that? What exactly did he have to gain? "I've actually been one since I was twelve."

The boy's eyes suddenly opened as his head whipped round, scaring the hell out of Ed. "Y-you're the Fullmetal?" the boy stuttered, tear-filled eyes wide with shock.

Both the man and the woman gawked at Edward as if he'd just grown a halo and wings. He looked away from them towards the fires burning a few dozen yards away from them, his face darkening. Even if he was sitting right next to one of those blazing fires right then, he doubted he'd have felt the warmth past the sudden chill in his bones.

"He can save us," the boy said suddenly, gazing worshipfully at Edward. "He's the hero of the people; he can save us!"

"I can't, kid, I'm sorry," Ed sighed, his heart sinking at the look of disappointment on the kid's face. "We couldn't even stop these guys from overthrowing us. Besides…" Ed said, looking up around him. All eyes were on him. Hope was rekindled in their eyes. Why, oh why, did the sound of his name have to bring so much happiness, when all he could offer in return was disappointment?

"The hero of the people… is long dead."


	2. If Only, If Only

Chapter Two: If only, If only

"How are you holding up, Alphonse?" Havoc asked. Al shuddered and shook his head, still looking at the ground. Roy Mustang looked over from his lookout window, sympathy written all over his face.

"Alphonse, you're going to have to stop sulking at some point," Mustang pointed out, looking back out the window. He had his handgun poised and ready to shoot an enemy soldier.

They had taken up refuge in an abandoned house on the borderline of Central. Alphonse wouldn't speak, he resumed to what every teenager does...angst and sulk. But he _was _only fourteen. Mustang had to remind himself almost every time he looked at the troubled boy.

Noisy shooting could be heard from far off. Al visibly tensed up a the sound and looked around. Mustang sighed and stepped away from the window. He solemnly glanced at Havoc and nodded to him. The lieutenant picked up the gesture and replaced him at the window. Mustang then unceremoniously grabbed Alphonse by the upper arm and pulled him out into the other room, shutting the rotten, ancient door behind them.

"Alphonse, speak to me. You've got to pick up your head, what did your brother always say?" he snarled, pressing him against the wall. He was sick of seeing the kid mope and worry himself to death, dammit!

" 'You've got to good legs, get up and use them' " Al mumbled, his head still bent down to the ground. Roy huffed and grabbed under Al's chin, lifting his heavy head.

"I promised your brother I'd watch out for you, and I don't think letting you fall apart is part of the job description. What the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded. He stared into Al's eyes, searching for some kind, _any _kind of emotion. The first few weeks after his bother's disappearance, they were filled with fear and anxiety. Now they were just clouded over, dead, just like Fullmetal was presumed to be.

"M-my brother...h-he's gone," Al whispered in a shaky voice. Tears beaded in the corners of his eyes, and Mustang felt a tug of despair. The stoic colonel felt his own eyes well up. He frowned and let go of Al, forbidding himself to show any signs of weakness in front of the depressed teen. He was supposed to be a father figure. He couldn't _cry_. How pathetic could he get? He was suppose to show Alphonse strength. He was supposed to pass that strength to him.

"Alphonse, your brother isn't dead-" he started, but he stopped when he looked back at the boy's face.

Tears spilt over Al's eyes and streamed down as he looked up angrily at Mustang, "Shut up! I know he's dead! That explosion killed _everyone, _including _him!_ Don't you dare tell me he's alive!" he screamed, voice cracking.

Alphonse shoved Mustang away and wrenched the door open, bolting away from it, away from Mustang.

He sighed, sitting down on one of the couches, burying his face into is hands. Edward _couldn't _be dead. An explosion just wasn't enough to kill Fullmetal. It just wasn't. After all those brothers had been through, how could an explosion kill the famous Fullmetal?

That's how they were separated. The enemy planted bombs in a refuge building supported by stilts on the lake, and Edward found them at the last minute. He shoved Mustang and Alphonse out the window just in time, but he didn't have time for himself.

Glass and rubble flew everywhere, pelting after Alphonse and Mustang. Roy had to drag the kicking and screaming Al out of the lake. At least three dozen people were in that building. No one else could have survived. Ed gave up his life and allowed Mustang and Al to reunite with Riza and more of the gang.

"I heard yelling. Is he still upset?" Riza inquired, striding in through the open door. She was wearing a long overcoat and a pair of Mustang's pants tied up with a belt. They couldn't walk around in their uniforms for fear of being spotted.

"Of course he is. He's just so bent on that Edward is dead," he sighed.

Riza sat down next to him. "Or maybe you're just so bent on him being alive, Sir," she quipped.

"Don't call me sir anymore, Riza. I'm not fit to be a Colonel if I couldn't even protect my country," Mustang snapped, ignoring Riza's comment.

"_Roy. _I think it's time we leave. They'll be scouting out this area soon," she stated sternly.

"Get Al ready then. We'll leave tonight."

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ed woke up. A cold cloth was laid on his head and a blanket was pulled up over his shoulders. He shifted, and the brand on his back scraped against the bedding and burned.

He wasn't under the prisoner tarp anymore. He was staring at a ceiling with bright florescent lights that lined the entire room. He looked to his side and saw many other beds, hospital beds.

"So you're finally awake?" someone asked.

He jumped in surprise and looked to his other side. It was that same kid from the other night. Or was it the other night? How long had he been out?

"What happened?" He rasped. His throat was dry and rough, but clearing it didn't help.

"You passed out... I guess. You just kind of went to sleep and never woke up. I thought you died," he said.

"Thanks for the faith, kid," Edward mumbled back.

"My faith? I looked up to you ever since I was 6. Back at the tent, you just gave up without even trying!" He yelled. Ed cringed and sat up, letting the cloth on his forehead fall onto his lap.

"Look, we were outnumbered and there was no way I was going to risk all your lives! It would have been suicide!" Ed argued, looking around.

"It would have been better than going to a purification ceremony," The kid grumbled.

Edward finally gave into his curiosity.

"What the hell is that supposed to be anyway? It can't be that bad."

The kid frowned at him and took a deep breath. " They burn you. Alive. Then they take you out of the fire just before you die and wrap you in some kind of white wrapping...then... then they kill you." He shuddered in disgust.

Ed felt a twinge of fear but shoved it aside. Those poor people...Burned alive...

"How the hell do you even know this? Aren't they some kind of private ritual?"

The kid got defensive, "I heard it from-"

"Enough arguing you two," A nurse, Ed presumed, said.

Ed rolled his eyes and slammed himself back down on the bed angrily. The pain that shot down from his shoulder to his gut made him shout.

"What the fuck?! What's wrong with those bastards?! They branded me?! Honestly!" He shrieked, grabbing a lamp next to his bed and throwing it at the wall. It fell to the ground and the light bulb smashed. The impact had left a hole in the far wall. Ed started swearing again, the other patients started getting nervous.

Ed was pissed. He wanted to destroy the whole building. The nurse seemed unfazed. She picked up the lamp and put it back down on the nightstand.

Another nurse rushed in, her blonde hair falling out from her pony tail.

"What happened I heard yelling!-" She stopped and stared at Ed. Ed stared back, his heart hammering. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw her face. He started when tears began streaming down her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but Ed slowly shook his head. He didn't know if revealing their connection was wise.

The other nurse spoke up, observing the blonde's distress.

"Winry? What's wrong?"

Winry jumped. "N-nothing! Ms. Daniels. I-uh, I was just so scared! I thought you were hurt."

"You should be used to it, Dear. It happens all the time," she smiled. "Now, can you re-wrap the boy's bandages? Their brands are nasty. I'll be back in a bit from with supply wagon. They should be delivering more supplies today... will you be ok alone?" Her voice was kind and motherly.

"Yes, ma'am."

Winry bowed towards Ms. Daniels as she left. More tears flowed out of Winry's eyes as she barreled over to Ed and stopped midstep.

"E-Ed?" She asked hesitantly. Ed scrambled out of his bed, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out of the room. Once he shut the door behind them, he turned on her. "Win, you can't give it away that we know each other, ok? You don't know me," he rushed.

"Ed? I don't get it. You're Edward!" She cried,wrapping her arms around him. She laid her head against his muscular chest and listened to his heartbeat.

"I-I...they told me you died," she moaned.

"I'm fine now. What are you doing here? Are you okay?" He demanded, returning the hug.

"I was told I would either be shot or become a nurse and help the injured... Ed..." She felt his grip around her tighten. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Do what you have to to live. Now, I've got to go before they see us together. I don't want you killed because of me."

Reluctantly, Ed released Winry and went back into the room. It broke his heart, but it would hurt even more to see his friend killed because of him.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Winry nearly cried when she removed Ed's bandages and saw the infection. A big burn mark, festering red and oozing yellow pus from the edges of the insignia, stretched across his shoulderblade. She immediately offered to give Ed a sedative so that he wouldn't feel the pain of her cleaning it, but he refused. She sighed and gently wiped the wound. His back muscles stiffened as he flinched.

"Damn it," He hissed. She uncapped a bottle of alcohol and placed a cloth under the infected site to prevent the liquid from running down his back. Holding her breath, she poured it on the burn and watched it foam. Ed jumped and gripped the sides of the bed. Winry waited for the foaming to subside and wiped the alcohol off. After putting antibiotic ointment on it, she covered the wound with a pad and wrapped it.

Ed sighed and laid his stomach.

"I can give you painkillers," She offered.

He looked up at her wearily.

"Naw, I'm fine."

She smiled down at him and pulled the blanket up over his body. She moved to the next bed and to the other boy with a similar infection. She kept glancing over her shoulder to Ed. It felt like he'd disappear at any minute. It was almost like she was dreaming. All she wanted to do was hug him and let him make everything better. In the past, he always made things better. But for now, she couldn't wait for that. She had to listen to his warnings.


	3. Without a Doubt

Weeks went by and nothing happened. There were no uprisings, no rebellions, no resistance… nothing at all. The rank atmosphere of death and despair went undisturbed, silent as a pre-dug grave. It was that eerie air of stark hopelessness that really pissed Ed off; it was like everyone had just given up without even trying to get their lives back. More than his own fear, pain and desolation, it was that silent surrender that sickened him. Ed had been removed from the infirmary soon after his infection cleared up, and had since been placed in the prison cells, surrounded by chains, locked doors and wary guards. He was constantly watched, and his lack of freedom had actually pushed him to the point of envying the other prisoners. The lesser alchemists, like kids and free-lance practitioners, stayed within the camp… which, though it was more like a fort, was much preferable to the dirty hole they'd found for him.

There was only one thing to really look forward to, and even that would send a twinge of guilt through him. Winry would come in the middle of the night when his so-called "guards" were sleeping. He supposed she wanted to check he was still alive and well, but every night they'd just end up having whispered arguments through the bars about her coming.

"Winry, if you're caught here, you're going to blow everything!" Ed would lecture, "Stop being an idiot!" He'd glare at her with all the force of one of his usual rants, but his voice would never go a decibel higher than a whisper, however much he wanted to scream his lungs out. He wouldn't risk her safety, not for the whole world.

"I've got to make sure you're not being hurt, Ed! If I never saw you… for all I know… you could be… y-you could be dead!"

"I will be dead if you don't get the hell out of here before these rejects wake up!"

Winry would leave looking hurt every time, her pretty blue eyes usually filled with tears that thankfully didn't fall where he had to watch them. It was the only way to keep her out of the increasingly violent interrogations. If they found out about their connection, her life would be threatened. Since he didn't know anything, it would just be a lose/lose situation… and she'd be killed. He just wished she'd understand that and stay away, so he didn't have to fear for her well-being as well as his own. Still… he'd be lying if he said his heart didn't warm ever so slightly whenever he saw her small form creeping down the corridor. It was the one light in his life during those long, long days and nights.

One such endless day – or was it night? There was no way of telling in this windowless, lantern-lit hell – Ed was resting his head against the back of the chair he was sitting on, legs sprawled in front of him, his eyes open but blank and unfeeling. He stared at the ceiling, staving off sleep and half-heartedly dreaming up yet another crappy, fantastical escape plan, usually involving Mustang and Al showing up with alchemy blazing on their fingertips and an army of thousands screaming battle cries behind them. Ed sighed and closed his eyes with a sigh, letting his head flop back even further as his bloody, matted bangs fell in his face unnoticed. He was going to go crazy if this kept up… never talking to anyone unless they kicked him into responding, just sitting in the same, dark, dingy little hell-hole, imagining the outside world as if it had never been real and was just some scattered illusion he'd once believed in. Never knowing if it was night or day. The only sign he had was when the guards fell asleep late at night and Winry snuck in… and if she actually listened to him for once, she might never turn up again. Despite himself, that thought sent a thrill of horror through his chest.

He suddenly heard footsteps from the nearby hallway, heavy, booted feet creating a no-nonsense stamp that rung in the tense atmosphere. Grateful for the distraction from his morbid thoughts, Ed opened one golden eye and slipped a bored glance towards the direction the new visitors were coming from, catching a glimpse of the approaching figures. So… two people. The alchemist's head snapped up as he felt the two new pairs of eyes on him, but he didn't return the look yet. He looked over at the guards; they had straightened up and looked alert, one man's hand twitching as if suppressing a instinctive salute. He smirked, knowing instantly that at least one of the visitors was a higher-up. Obviously, his stubborn silence had grown irritating enough that the brass had got involved. He allowed himself a lazy grin of pride, which faded into a provocative smirk as his visitors spoke quickly with the guards and turned their attention on their prisoner.

"So, this is the famous FullMetal?" an oddly soft voice called to him, the man who assumedly owned it coming into Ed's view a moment later in between the guards. With such a quiet voice, the blonde alchemist had anticipated a softer-looking man, but the shadow that hung over him was far from a pushover, his shadowed features hard and cold. "I expected someone more... impressive."

Ed glared at the man from behind the bars. "Who the hell are you calling too short to be impressive, you skinny bastard?!"

One of the guards flinched and Ed raised his eyebrows. What the hell was his problem? The boy noticed how one guard was shooting the higher-up concerned glances, while the other merely looked like his face had turned into a thundercloud. Turning curious eyes back on the new man, Ed frowned ever so slightly, perplexed. Obviously this guy was pretty important… or he wouldn't have struck such a blow with such a simple show of defiance. He noticed the man was studying him with equal interest, sharp green eyes analyzing every battered inch of the exhausted, frightened, stubborn child who was really such a powerful enemy. The man was tall (Ed added him to the long list in his head of condescending beanpoles whose feet he wanted to rip off), lean and dressed in the army's uniform, his shoulder mysteriously free of medals, despite his obvious rank. His dark brown hair appeared almost black in the dim light, the occasional flicker of the lamplight making the odd lock shine bronze, and the odd hair shine white. Ed supposed he was in his forties, and not looking bad for it… but still pretty young for a high rank. Perhaps his instincts were failing him, and he really was just some regular officer. But then, who was his companion?

Turning his head dismissively to make it clear that his attention was firmly elsewhere, Ed looked over at the other man and cringed unconsciously, despite trying to repress the reaction. It was the colonel that branded him, just a month or two ago. The memories were too raw and fresh for his body not to try and get away from the pain it instinctively saw coming.

"How's the mark healing, FullMetal?" the Colonel sneered, earning a glare from the boy. "Last time I saw you… you weren't in such good shape." Robeshaw's lips twitched in a sadistic grin as he saw the fear flicker in Ed's eyes. He could still feel the aching throb of the burn occasionally, and the blinding agony he remembered had yet to fade from his nightmares.

The other man lifted a hand to stop Robeshaw's taunts and flashed a glance back at Ed, whose eyes narrowed at the way the Colonel nodded respectfully and shut up without a second thought. _No… he's definitely a higher-up, _Ed thought quickly._ A fair bit higher than Robeshaw. Geez, I'm honored. _"So," the man continued, smiling patronizingly, "What _is _your proper name?"

The alchemist bristled at that look, his pride rearing its ugly head again. "Fuck off! I'm not telling you shit," Ed growled.

Robeshaw grinned. "See, sir? I told you he was a cocky son of a bitch." He shot Ed a malicious glare that said clearer than words, '_Shut up if you value your life, kid_' and forced a pleasing smile onto his square face. "You wouldn't know what a trouble-maker he is to look at him now, though, sir. He certainly didn't make it easy for us in catching him." Ed blinked, but the higher-up was looking at the Colonel and didn't notice the captive's surprise. "So many of my best men were injured in the line of duty that day, but by the use of some of my" – he laughed with something sickeningly close to coyness – "_better_ strategies, we finally managed to round up the rogue alchemist with no civilian casualties. Of course, my men didn't get away uninjured, but there were luckily no fatalities. It wasn't easy... but we got him in the end!" Robeshaw laughed heartily, glaring daggers at the goggling alchemist even as his false grin twisted across his face. "You know I would never fail you, sir!"

Staring blankly at the chuckling man, Ed wasn't quite sure whether to agree and make the Colonel's lie into even more of a boost to both their egos, or to show him up for the liar and kiss-ass he was. He could see how this fallacy was beneficial to the Colonel – it made him look like a hero, and made his men seem a lot more capable than they probably were… but the whole thing was bullshit, really. Ed had been running for his life, mingling with the flock of refugees leaving Central, never before so glad for his unobtrusive height as he was while he hid in the massive crowd. He'd been adopted by a family of gypsies and everything looked like he was going to make it… until he reached the checkpoint. He'd realised at once what it was, and when he'd seen his own picture in the window of a nearby sentry's hut, he'd known the game was up. Running for it had seemed like a good idea at the time… until a guard had walloped him round the head with the butt of his rifle. He'd woken up in the prisoner's camp. The only injuries he'd caused had been the twisted ankle of a woman he'd accidentally tripped while fleeing, and his own sore head.

He fixed Robeshaw with a dark glare at the memory. "I walked into a checkpoint, asshole," he muttered under his breath. "You hit me round the head, problem solved. You and I both know that – "

"So yes, sir, just a warning. He's certainly a feisty little bugger," Robeshaw interrupted him as if he'd never heard the boy speaking.

"_Who the fuck are you calling too little to pose a problem, bastard?!_"

The other man's lips twitched. "So I see. Well, that's a good thing. The more confidence a heretic has at the beginning of the interrogation, the more satisfaction one derives from stripping it away," the man answered, never breaking eye contact with Ed. Ed suppressed a groan; he had known interrogation was going to happen at some point – angry questionings only got you so far when your prisoner had recently taken to ignoring you and singing to himself – but that didn't mean he had mentally prepared himself for the worst.

With a gesture of the man's head, the guard on the left turned out of sight and began to open the door to Ed's cell, drawing a heavy iron bar across the door and turning keys in each of the five locks. Ed was duly flattered by the high security, but he did his best not to show it, yawning exaggeratedly and feigning sleep, before the door was finally shoved open and slammed into the wall behind it, squeaking on its rusty hinges. Grabbing him roughly by the shoulder, Ed was yanked up out of the chair and dragged out of the cell by his loose, ragged hair, his blonde roots starting to grow out after so many weeks of neglect. Before he could take stock of his surroundings, a black cloth bag was pulled over Ed's head and he was dragged out of the high security prison building he was contained in, hearing the footsteps of the two army officers leading the way.

The journey seemed much longer than it was, he was sure. He heard plenty of other booted footsteps pass them by as they walked in a forced quick march, and knew them for the guards they were – at least a dozen on each corridor. They also had to stop at several checkpoints to have their identities checked before they moved into a different area, the bag torn off his head for long enough for him to blink dazedly in the sudden light, before he was back in darkness and moving on through a locked door. The security amazed and depressed him. Did they really think him that dangerous, even without his alchemy? He knew for a fact that this entire building prevented alchemy; he'd tried as soon as they'd taken his manacles off, but to no avail. He didn't know how many other 'high-security prisoners' were in there with him, but he doubted that there were a lot. Still… the building was ridiculously big, considering how few there were. It'd be almost impossible for a prisoner to escape without getting lost, unless they'd memorized the route… and the cloth bag made that impossible. Light pierced the cloth in small bright rays, but he couldn't see anything useful. He even tried peering through the miniscule holes, but it was futile. He obviously wasn't meant to see a thing on their little trek, in case he tried forming a plan to escape. Dirty bastards thought everything through.

It was really distressing, being blind and led by ignorant people who shoved and tripped you, seemingly just for the amusement of watching him stagger to keep his footing on his weakened, atrophied legs. Ed somehow managed to keep on his feet and was eventually shoved down into yet another chair. A rough yank removed the bag from his head, along with several strands of tangled hair in a sharp tug of pain on his scalp, and Ed felt his heart speed up as he looked around the room, blinking to re-adjust his eyes to the light. Yet another dark, dingy cell met his frightened gaze, but there was just one addition that really made the breath seize up in the boy's throat. At one edge of the room, there was a table and on it was a tray of… tools. _Tools_. Saws, scalpels, screwdrivers, hammers, manacles, thumb-locks and dozens of other, more sinister-looking devices that the alchemist couldn't help but imagine in use. Ed nearly shuddered as he looked away, holding back the instinctive motion as he tried to calm his pounding heart. The men took leather straps and tied his ankles and calves firmly to the chair's legs and his wrists down onto the chair's arms. The boy tried to remember to breathe as he allowed the guards to restrain him – he knew now that there was no point in resisting physically. They'd be more than prepared for that. The prison guards had interrogated him before but nothing like this. Before, they just repeatedly yelled questions in his face, and when he refused to answer them, they had kicked the shit out of him. Sure, he had a few bruises and the odd cracked rib, but this… this was the real deal. Here, it looked like these guys got a kick out of torturing people. It didn't look like the kind of place where a simple "I don't know" would satisfy.

There were five people in the room other than himself. The strange higher-up, two new guards (when had they swapped? He couldn't remember), Colonel Brock Robeshaw and… there was some woman with long blonde hair. Ed's eyes narrowed on the new arrival and he studied her for a minute. Pale, icy blue eyes, skin so pale it was almost translucent, and a stick-thin, rather unwomanly figure… she looked like she never saw the sun. His fears were confirmed as he noticed how she seemed cold, distant… somehow dazed. Like this was an everyday occurrence for her. So this was the woman… who'd be making his life a hell on earth.

"So, FullMetal." The boy turned his attention to the speaker reluctantly, gritting his teeth in an effort not to show the effect the new setting was having on his resolve. "We don't have to use anything extreme on you if you just cooperate and answer a few questions," the higher-up said. Ed stared at him for what seemed like hours, wondering what those sharp, hazel-green eyes saw when they fell on their next victim. _Not fear. I won't let them see fear. _He felt his heart smashing itself against his ribs, but he couldn't show it. _None at all_.

"Let's start with something simple. What's your name?"

"And what's the significance of my name?" Ed shot immediately.

"Well, I think we can become good friends. Wouldn't it be best to be on a first-name basis?" the man asked innocently, but Ed was watching his wandering hand as his long, thin fingers wrapped elegantly around the handle of a large hammer on the table. Ed felt sick, but returned his eyes to the man's face and kept them there through sheer willpower alone. _I will not be intimidated. Not so easily. Never._

"Well then, you can go first, Mr. Condescending," Ed snarled, trying to overpower the feeling of nausea.

The man laughed heartily, his broad grin oddly genuine, and the young alchemist felt his heart drop in expectation of the answer. "Come now, you know who I am, FullMetal. Daniel Adams, _President _Adams… at your service."

Ed felt his thrashing heart suddenly stop as he stared into the man's face. _President? As in...leader?_

The room seemed to fade into the background as those eyes swallowed up his entire world, those sharp and icy cold irises suddenly taking on a new level of dread. Daniel Adams, President of the tiny little country that had once been called Benole. All the facts Ed knew about the man suddenly spun around his head. Benole… the tiny little country that had once been a Drachman principality on the border between the two warring nations… until Amestris had annexed it in the war back when Bradley was still the Fuhrer. He only vaguely remembered the details – back then, the war in Drachma had been something he really didn't give a shit about in comparison to restoring his little brother. Where the Benolean Army had suddenly sprung up from, nobody really knew, seeing as Benole had been all but destroyed in the chaos, overrun and split up between the two bigger countries, with constant conflicts starting up all along the border, but… this 'President Adams' had been the one who had dragged the country out of the ashes, and set the army on Amestris like a horde of avenging demons. It was this man who was to blame… for _everything._

The cool hammerhead suddenly touched under his chin and lifted his head up, his throat feeling curiously exposed as he gawked at the man… still unable to comprehend that this was the man he so badly wanted to kill. He could do it. He should do it, should put his life and his pride on the line just to destroy the bastard who had brought so much suffering, but… he couldn't. Something restricted him, keeping his aching lungs from taking in any more air, keeping his mouth slightly parted like a fear-stricken idiot as he gazed up in terror at the man that had destroyed all their lives.

"Now what's your name?"

"E – " Ed began impulsively, opening his mouth smoothly to reply without a second thought, before he realised and stopped himself. What was wrong with him?! He should be throwing snarky comments, pissing off his captors into betraying _their _information… not giving his own! But something about that hammer holding his head up had nearly made the name slip out without a hitch. Really… what did it matter? Nobody cared whether or not he told them his name. Nobody except him. He cared… about that, and about how he was being ruled by his own terror. Well no more – he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of having even one tiny victory over him. Perhaps someday, he'd let that tidbit slip, but today, they would not know his name.

… But perhaps someday he'd give them cause to fear it.

Straightening up, he lifted his head clear of the hammer and smirked in the man's face, the boyish smile on his face devoid of any fear, but full of mischief. "Well you can just call me 'Sir' for now, and maybe I'll let it slide," he grinned, delighting in the slight expression of surprise on that smooth face, before suddenly, his already bruised stomach flared up in agony and he felt bile sting his throat as he doubled over, groaning.

It took him a while to work out what had happened, but then he realised there was another pair of boots in his eyeline next to the President's, slightly bigger and standing in a fighting stance. _Oh right… he hit me. I didn't even see him move. _"Have some respect, you stupid little brat!"

Ed managed to drag in a breath, and flung his head up to glare at the Colonel, whose fist was still brandished his way. "Why should I…" he gasped, "… show any respect… for the guy who… destroyed my home?"

"He has a point, Robeshaw," Adams murmured with a slight smile, leaving Ed wanting to wipe the expression off his face even more. The bastard had no right to _agree _with him!

"I… don't need… your false sympathy…"

The President hesitated for a second, then knelt down to his level, meeting Ed's pained eyes with his own. Again, Ed was struck by just how clear and perceptive that gaze was, never seeming to blink or falter for even a moment. "Trust me, FullMetal, it's not false. I know what it feels like to lose your country and everything you love." The boy's eyes widened in realization as the hammerhead once more took its place under his chin, forcing him to sit upright, despite the tight pain in his abdomen. "That's why all of this happened."

_Of course… it was because of Amestris and the war Bradley started that Benole was overrun in the first place… _Ed thought suddenly. _They must blame us for it… but why alchemists? That's… the one bit I don't understand. We never did anything…_

"So, you're not going to be honest with me and tell me what I want to know, hmm?" _Like hell, you bastard. _The man smiled again, tipping his head slightly to one side as he eyed his victim like a bird watching a wriggling worm. "Come on, FullMetal, don't make this hard on yourself. Where are your commanding officers? What's his name… Colonel Roy Mustang… am I correct?"

Ed suddenly jerked his head away, a stubborn flame igniting in his yellow eyes. "I told you that I'm not telling you shit!"

Without a second thought, Adams lifted the hammer and brought it down on Ed's flesh hand, quick as a flash. A sickening crack registered in the boy's ears before the pain even got to him. A jolt of agony and terror shot through his nerves as he yelled out, his eyes clenching shut as if they could block out the pain. "Motherfucker!" he hissed, forcing down screams.

"Now now, cussing isn't going to get you out of this. Talking might, though. Give it some thought, won't you? You're a clever boy."

Ed felt his eyes water up as his hand throbbed. He refused to look at it, but he could feel it growing wet and swelling,. By that familiar sensation and the crunch he had heard before, he knew it was definitely broken. His stomach was twisting and he could feel the vomit rising in his throat, but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of crying at the pain. He'd had much worse. _Much, much worse. Come on, Ed. Pull it together…_

"Now, judging by your reaction, Roy Mustang is correct? The infamous Flame Alchemist, human weapon, reaper of hundreds of innocent lives in the Eastern Rebellion." He chuckled at Ed's startled blink. "Yes… I know all about that. Now, you wouldn't happen to know _where _he is, would you?" Adams asked, placing the hammer back down on the table and picking up the short saw. Ed choked out a gasp, unable to hold it back as Adams placed the saw at his flesh shoulder. He twisted desperately in his restraints, knowing it was pointless before he began. _The man's a psychopath!_ "I could make you armless, how about that? You'll be even more 'FullMetal' than you already are."

"B-Bas..." Ed stared down at the saw with eyes blurring from the pain, feeling his forehead break out in a sweat. They wouldn't do that, would they?! They couldn't! _Ed, calm down and think this through, _he thought hard, forcing logic through the fog of panic in his brain._ They couldn't saw off your arm because then it would require medical attention… and that's something they don't want to keep wasting on a lowly Amestrian criminal like me. And I mustn't forget, I've still got this… purification ceremony shit coming up. They can't do that if I die from blood loss or some kind crappy infection. _Ed recomposed himself and grinned up at the man, gaining his self-confidence back. The man frowned slightly, then his thin lips quirked upwards. _Oh no, you bastard, I'm not broken yet._

"Sir," the blonde woman interjected, speaking for the first time. Her voice was creepy all on its own, that one word sounding almost wispy and ethereal on her lips. Oddly, she didn't sound at all deferential, almost seeming to warn her leader that enough was enough, all with one little word.

Wordlessly accepting the woman's 'authority' on the issue, the President shot a glance back at her, then set the saw back down on the table and backed off, grinning. "Colonel… I believe you wanted to try him?"

Ed's lips twisted in disgust as they passed him around like little boys with a new toy. "Thank you, sir." Robeshaw stepped forward; Ed jerked his head away to stare at the wall but his chin was quickly grabbed and yanked up, a knife point suddenly driven against his temple. Ed stared fiercely at the man, not breaking eye contact even as his heart lurched almost out of his chest at the sight of the naked blade so close to his eye. "Tell us where your Colonel is now, boy, or you _will_ regret not telling us his - "

Ed spat at the man and nailed him square in the eye, his breath ragged with pain and fear in anticipation of the Colonel's reaction. The man snarled as he wiped his eye on one starched white sleeve, then dragged the knife down the side of the boy's face, making a scream catch in his throat like acid in his vocal cords. It felt like glass was splintering down the side of his face as he felt blood break out and roll down in streaks.

"Tell me now!" the man demanded.

The boy gasped to find enough air to respond. "F-fuck off, you son of a bi– " Ed felt something collide hard with the side of his head and white spots blinked as he fought to keep his consciousness. Ed gazed wearily at the spinning world around him as Robeshaw pulled out the gun from his pocket holster. He was vaguely aware of the blonde woman stepping forward as he panted weakly, the simplest of thoughts suddenly difficult. _Must not… show… show pain… can't… show weakness… never… __**never…**_

"Don't lose your temper, he's just a boy – !"

"This little bastard is a disgrace and an abomination! I am sorry, sir, but how could you think it possible that he could be re-trained?!"

Ed sat there as his head dropped down onto his chest, blood trickling in one eye. They must have thought he was down for the count, talking as if he wasn't even there. To be honest, he wasn't in a much better state than unconsciousness. _Re-train? What's that… supposed to mean…?_

"Come now… Everyone deserves a second chance and he's still young. I believe anyone can be taught moral values with enough attention and understanding – "

Ed couldn't take it anymore. First they passed him round for torture like some kind of sick game, then they talked about him like he wasn't there, then they made plans for his torturers to _train him in moral values?! _Lifting his head up with a gargantuan effort, he gave Adams the ugliest death glare he could muster. "Go to hell… shithead…" With a wordless snarl, Robeshaw pointed the gun at Ed's face, but the boy just smirked as he blearily stared down the barrel of the gun. They wouldn't shoot him, they couldn't. Ceremonies and executions did have a bright side, after all. He coughed, his grin turning lopsided as it twisted in pain. "Gonna give me the… easy way out… you pussies?"

"Don't get cocky with me you little bastard," Robeshaw roared. From what sounded like far off, Ed heard a loud bang, and watched the gun spark in the Colonel's hand, the handgun jerking upwards with the rebound. But he felt… nothing. He sat there for a second, trying to register what happened. _Why… why isn't there any pain? What's going –_ White light enveloped his vision as his leg burst out in mind-blowing anguish. A scream ripped through his throat again but with his last conscious thoughts, he refused to let it escape his mouth. Heavy fists collided with his stomach, his shoulder, his chin, his ribs, his stomach… again and again in clean succession. He went blind, his mind spiraling down into submission just as Robeshaw was grabbed by the guards and pulled away.

~*~

Adams was pissed beyond all belief. He shot a cool glare at the trembling Colonel, his large chest still heaving in his rage. "What the hell was that, Robeshaw?! I said no major injuries and you go and shoot him in the fucking leg?!" he yelled, moving over to the apparently unconscious kid, who was still bound to the chair. He motioned for Janette to go get the medics and gently thumbed open each golden eye, to make sure the kid wasn't faking it. You could never be too sure, especially with what he had heard in stories about the FullMetal Alchemist, Amestris' famous prodigy. He was clever – clever enough to join those dogs of the state at the age of 12 – and crafty enough to have evaded capture for such a long time after Benole's invasion of the Amestrian capital. He could hardly believe that such a small, fragile-looking kid was the cause of all the rumors and chaos, the so-called 'Alchemist of the People'.

Concluding that he was indeed unconscious, he unstrapped the boy and carefully eased him onto the floor. The alchemist was pale already, weak from so long eating one meal a day if he was lucky, tired from constant nights of little to no sleep, and now dealing with massive blood loss too. This was exactly why he had gone for the hammer – broken bones caused much more pain than sliced skin, and resulted in only a small amount of blood. Besides, there was something intoxicatingly powerful about wielding the full force of a hammer on human flesh and bone… but that was something he would prefer not to think about. Torture wasn't something he enjoyed… but it was a necessity that the stubborn Amestrians had forced him to use.

"Sir, no disrespect, sir, but I believe we should put an end to him while we still have a chance, Sir!" Robeshaw said firmly, shaking off the guards but remaining on the other side from the boy, his hands still shaking with the suppressed desire to inflict pain on the rebellious prisoner.

The President took a deep breath, mentally praying for patience. "_Colonel_," he sighed, the title carrying a subtle reminder of the man's lowly rank. His tone was icy, and the man instantly straightened, his little piggy eyes wide. _I hate this man, _Adams thought wearily. "It seems you still don't realize the value of the information the kid has in his head, so unless you want to join him in the cells, I suggest you shut your mouth. You directly disobeyed my orders, Robeshaw. Such a grave insubordination should break you straight back to Private, if not warrant you a one-way trip to the executioners block."

Robeshaw bowed his head, but not before Adams could see the pleasing expression of fear and repentance on his face. "Please… forgive me, sir. It won't happen again."

Adams sighed and waved the stupid bastard out of the room as the medics arrived and clustered around the unconscious boy, strapping him into a stretcher. He watched their progress, his eyes trailing the growing pool of blood on the floor of the cell as he began wondering about other ways to get through to the FullMetal kid. He seemed like the sensitive type, hardly one to contain his emotions. Perhaps, the strength of character and love of life that made him such a hero to the Amestrian people could be turned against him…?


	4. My Lithium

**Well, now both Kib and I own this story. We discuss it over AIM and such and blah. Oh yeah. I'm surprised I haven't been bitched out about this but I NEVER have written a disclaimer. Cause Im totally Hiromu and I OWN FMA. So yeah.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of this except the OCs, and the plot. Its all mine...and Kibs. **

**Its like this. I came up with this metaphor about how Kib and I work. My job is to draw the picture and Kib colors and shades it. I think you guys are smart enough to figure that one out. **

**If you guys ever wanna add me on AIM go ahead, it's punkyshadexx. Cause some dumbass took nightshadexx -_-" So w/e **

**Review keeps me writing. Kib does too cause she'd kill me if I stopped. So review! :O**

* * *

"Look out!" yelled Hawkeye.

A flash of gunfire reflected in dark eyes as the notorious Flame Alchemist grabbed Alphonse and Havoc from his running leap and bore them both down behind a large pile of crates. Guns went off, the shots whizzing past their heads by mere feet and smashing a long line of windows above them as they all ducked down and covered their heads, receiving shallow scratches from the falling glass but luckily no bullets. Mustang picked himself up from the ungainly sprawl he'd fallen into and crawled to the edge of the crates, shooting a glance round the edge. He dared not put his head out, but even from the terrible viewpoint, he could still see a squadron of at least twenty soldiers, and he was certain he'd seen more when they had been in the open.

It was a case of really shitty luck, and nothing more. The four of them were all that was left of Mustang's original group, after Roy himself had sent Falman, Breda and Fuery to get their families out of Central a few days after it became obvious they were doomed. They had simply been driving unobtrusively enough through town to get to a secret military safehouse when a Benolean captain had pulled them over to do a stop-check on the vehicle and its passengers. They'd got out of the car and co-operated with the soldiers, Mustang swearing internally to himself all the while, but when asked for their ID, he'd done the only thing he could – thrown a punch that Ed would have been proud of… and ran for it. What followed was a long chase by an increasing number of soldiers, and somehow, impossibly… a dead end.

_This day just gets better and better._

"Sir, I don't think we can hold them off for much longer," Riza shouted to him over the gunfire as he pulled back from the edge with a sigh. She straightened up and sighted down the barrel of her pistol, shooting a man directly between the eyes over thirty feet away with dead-on accuracy, before dropping back to one knee as a fresh volley hit the spot she'd been standing in.

Reaching a quick decision, Mustang grabbed a shard of glass from the ground and began to lightly scratch an array on the back of his hand, gritting his teeth at the sting and trying to keep his hand still lest the drops of blood smudge the lines. The pain and the time consumed made him wish fervently for his alchemist's gloves, but those were long gone, lost in yet another battle with even worse odds against him. He winced as he finished the transmutation circle with a slightly harder gash than necessary, but didn't hesitate; he had to save everyone. Especially Al. He glanced down at the boy still crumpled beside him, clutching his head and staring at the ground between his shaking legs. Roy's eyes narrowed, and he turned back to the bloody array. Above all, he would keep the last promise he had made to Edward. He had to protect FullMetal's little brother.

Havoc had been watching his work and had a knowing, crooked smile on his face. "This again?"

The Colonel nodded and held out his other hand. Havoc complied, handing over his well-loved lighter. Taking a deep breath, Mustang stood and looked up over the crates, fearlessly showing his face to the enemy. Before they could shoot the new, easy target, he flicked his thumb over the lighter igniter and a spark issued. Activating the array on his hand without even thinking, he fed the little spark on a path of compressed oxygen, then added a lick of hydrogen just as the now roaring flame reached the soldiers. _Perfect as always._

It blew up over the firing troop and there was the instant clamor of people throwing down their weapons and screaming. Mustang frowned; it sounded so much like Ishbal. He'd done the same thing a thousand times back then, but the flames had blown up amongst the men, women and even children… not over their heads. Still, the similarities plagued his memories, threatening to trigger flashbacks that never really left his mind. But, he reminded himself coolly, he couldn't allow those memories to stop him from protecting his friends.

"It's the Devil's work!'

"It's witchcraft! He's a warlock!"

"Pull back, pull back!"

Mustang scoffed and ignited the lighter again, blazing more fire in their direction, scorching a few stragglers until they also turned tail and fled. The pure terror was there in their eyes as they pulled back, but the alchemist merely turned away, not allowing himself to be distracted. He had bigger fish to fry… this time, not literally. Though the temptation was great, FullMetal would kill him if he knew he'd turned his flames on his precious little brother… zombie or no.

As soon it was all clear, Mustang grabbed Alphonse by the back of his shirt and pulled him roughly to his feet, almost lifting him off the ground in the process. It had long since ceased to frighten him that the boy was like a walking corpse, his eyes dead, the only emotions those grey orbs ever showed fear and sorrow. Since FullMetal's disappearance, the boy had suddenly stopped responding to almost anything, would barely meet anyone's eyes, let alone speak, and wouldn't even eat unless Mustang basically drove it down his throat. The Colonel was reaching the end of his tether. He was a soldier, not a babysitter… but then, he'd thought that when FullMetal had first arrived in Central. Edward had certainly proved him wrong there. It was because of the bond he now had with the teenaged alchemist that he was even in this situation now, putting his own life at risk to look after his traumatized little brother.

As they started walking, Mustang dragging Al along, Riza re-loading her pistol, and Havoc rubbing a bump on his head then scowling at the spot of blood on his hand, the Colonel suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and got an eerie feeling as he looked up sharply. It felt like… they were being watched. Like that look Edward had always given him when he assigned him paperwork. Like someone was glaring at his back. With the intent to kill.

He glanced over at Riza, who shot him a worried look in return, the unusual disquiet clear in her brown eyes. She seemed to have gotten the feeling as well. Both of them scrutinized the street around them, seeing nothing, but the creepy sensation didn't lessen any. "I don't like walking in the open like this," Roy muttered. "Let's just move along the buildings - " Mustang cut himself off as he looked up and _finally _saw a soldier pointing a rifle from a rooftop across the street. He was quite far away, but Mustang could see with dread that gun was pointing at Al with pinpoint accuracy, the apparently disorientated young boy an easy target and obviously the object of the group's affection. Following her Colonel's gaze, Riza yelled out as she reached for her pistol… and the gun went off.

Reacting instinctively, Mustang threw Al forward towards the pavement and the bullet flew inches shy of Al's throat, hitting Mustang in his outstretched arm. He hissed a curse and clutched the wound to his chest as Riza turned, aimed and fired her pistol in less than a second, knocking the man off his perch. Blood exploded from the side of his skull as he tumbled silently from the rooftop like a rag doll, leaving a sticky crimson trail across someone's roof tiles.

There was dead silence for a moment, then the markswoman turned back to her commanding officer with an unspoken question in her eyes. Havoc, too, reached out for the Colonel's injured arm, but Mustang got there before them with a sigh. He ripped his sleeve up and exposed the gun wound, the world spinning slightly at the sight of his own blood… and so much of it. Feeling himself on the verge of vomiting, he forced himself to think clinically about the injury. _Entry wound, speaks for itself. Exit wound…? _He noticed the bullet had gone through the skin of his forearm and was lying on the pavement nearby, blood-soaked, next to a small piece of his flesh. He turned his eyes away with a shudder. So it was just a graze. But… Hell, it was still bleeding heavily.

Al sat on the ground, still sprawled out, staring at Mustang with wide eyes as the dark-haired alchemist slipped down the wall to sink onto the ground, allowing Riza to rip a strip of cloth from his damaged sleeve and wrap his wound with it. Roy watched blearily as tears started rolling down the boy's pale face, a slight frown furrowing his own dark brows. "Are you… alright, Alphonse?" he asked awkwardly, hearing the question for the stupid statement it was. People didn't cry when they were alright. The only question was whether or not they wanted to tell you what was wrong.

"What do you mean 'Am I alright?' ?! A-are you?!" he broke out, tears streaming down his face now. "Y-y-you're not gonna die, are you?!"

Mustang was stunned that Al took such a small wound so seriously. And he never would have dreamed of Al being scared for _him_. Well, he didn't have to ask where the fear of losing those he cared about came from, but he was flattered that Al did indeed seem to care about him enough to be this worried. He smiled lightly. "Al, I'm just fine. I won't die."

For a long moment, the boy simply stared at him, before Al drew up his knees to his chest and buried his face into his hands, sobbing. Roy made a sudden, instinctive movement towards him, but stopped at the last minute. This was the most emotion they'd seen out of Al for… weeks. He was sure that letting out all that contained emotion had to be part of the healing process. "I-I-I'm so sorry," the kid gasped, his hands shaking over his covered face, "It's my fault! I d-don't want you to die, C-Colonel!"

Mustang frowned and stood up, wincing at the stinging gun graze. It truly wasn't a big deal, it was just a scratch. He'd never thought he'd say the cliché phrase, but it really was just a flesh wound. "Alphonse, get a hold of yourself. I'm fine. Nothing is going to happen to any of us. It'll be even less likely if we can get out of here before someone hears that shot and finds us all lounging around around on the ground like sitting ducks."

Riza shot Mustang a stern look, not needing words to tell him to stop being a jackass. Rolling his eyes at her predictable maternal instincts, he sighed and glanced over at Havoc for support. To his surprise, Havoc had a look very much the same. Reluctantly trying to be a little understanding, Mustang walked across to Al and placed a hand on his head, tilting it up so the boy's teary grey eyes were forced to meet his own. "Come on, Al. Get up, before I get too soft."

Al looked up from his hands, his eyes were beet red, soaked with tears. He smiled and wrapped his arms around Mustang's middle, like a little child. The ex-soldier froze up, staring wide-eyed down at the boy for whom he seemed to have become a highly reluctant father figure, then slowly began to laugh. "Now, what did I just say?" he teased gently as he patted the boy's back in something resembling comfort. "You're making me too soft as it is, without even starting on the physical contact. Now, let me go, and let's go find your brother."

Al looked up at him, his frown returning, a little darkness returning to those tired, _tired _eyes. "Do you _really _think he's still alive?"

The older man eyed the clinging boy for a second, disbelieving. After everything these boys had been through, how could Al possibly think that an explosion could have killed Edward Elric? He'd watched that boy… no, he couldn't call Ed that anymore. He'd watched that _young man_ take down half an army on his own on the first day of the invasion, his small face set in a feral growl, his golden eyes burning with all the fires of Hell. Even Mustang's flames hadn't done anywhere near as much damage to the Benolean forces as the FullMetal Alchemist's targeted earthquakes, landslides, avalanches and his trademark rock fists and sharp stone spikes. Even after the array that had suppressed all of Central's alchemic power had been activated, Edward had continued to lay into the dozens of soldiers around him, a spinning, flipping, punching, kicking blur of rage. No wonder they had been so hotly pursued when Al had finally managed to grab his brother and drag him, still fuming and screaming war cries, from the battleground. No wonder they'd gone to such limits to try and capture the three renegade alchemists as they fled towards the outskirts of the city. No wonder they'd planted those bombs once they finally reached the military refuge. Their aim all along was to take down Amestris' pillar of strength… the Hero of the People.

But he wouldn't believe what Al did – that they might possibly have succeeded. It would take so much more than an explosion and a collapsing building to take down FullMetal. Of that, he was certain. "He's alive, Al. I know it. And you know…" Roy held the boy's gaze, trying to make the boy feel the strength of his conviction with just the intensity of that look. "You _know _I would never lie to you about that."

"So you… you do care about him?"

Eyes widening in hurt, Mustang pulled back slightly. "… Why wouldn't I?"

The boy swallowed, looking down. "I just wondered… 'cause when he…" Al gulped, then mumbled out the rest of the answer so quickly the others could barely make sense of it. "When he d-disappeared, you never seemed to… to really _care_…"

The Flame Alchemist stiffened, frowning darkly. Startled by the strong reaction from the normally indifferent man, Al released him and drew back, worried. Mustang eyed the boy warily for a split second, then he turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. _Did I really come across that way? No wonder he's been so distrusting…_ "Al…" he murmured eventually, and carefully knelt down to the boy's level, placing his hands on the thin, shaking shoulders. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth. Of course I care about your brother. Don't be an idiot. I just arrived at the realisation a while ago that there is no point in grieving for someone who isn't dead!"

Al gazed down at the ground as if it had suddenly become safer to look at than the other alchemist's angry face, making Mustang feel like an ass all over again. When the kid got that hurt expression on his innocent little face, Al had a special gift for making you feel like an asshole – even if you hadn't really done anything.

"I'm… sorry, Colonel… I really want to believe but... I just don't want to get let down."

"I won't let you down, Al. Trust me on this. Just this once."

Mustang waited for Al's mute nod before standing up again, pulling the boy to his feet as he did so. Glancing round at the other two, he noticed Riza was shooting warning glances and Havoc looked like a kicked dog. There was an awkward pause as the pair tried to voice their feelings, then shook their heads silently. Mustang frowned, before dismissing it as surprise at his unusually supportive behaviour. The Colonel sniffed, offered Al another rare smile and moved on, this time keeping close to the buildings and scanning the rooftops as well as the street. Alphonse followed soon after, a spring in his step that hadn't been there for the longest time.

Behind him, Roy's subordinates shared a knowing glance. Both of them had slowly, unwillingly come to believe that Ed was in fact gone forever, and had come to terms with that fact in their own way. It wasn't as if he was the only comrade they'd lost to the war. In such a situation, the best course of action was to accept the truth, grieve without restraints, and then try and move on. They didn't like how Mustang was getting poor Al's hopes up like this. The question was, was the manipulative Mustang just lying to try and keep the kid moving in order to keep his promise to his deceased friend and subordinate?

Or did the Colonel actually believe it himself?

~*~

Winry grimaced as she helped another man into his bed, forcing herself to ignore his whimpers of pain as his extensive burns stung with every movement. The young nurse's mind was everywhere else at once. The beds were filling up too quickly and there wasn't enough staff. How could they take care of all these people?!

Leaving the man twisting in his bed, Winry picked up his papers and made a cursory scan of the hastily scrawled notes. It wasn't as if the doctors had had much time to write them – everyone was rushed off their feet, including her. She sighed, trying to catch her breath and with it her spiraling thoughts. She didn't like any of this. She was being forced to help the enemy, but that didn't make her feel any better. Sure, it was supposedly a good thing to help the injured, no matter what side they were on. Her parents had given their all for both sides of the Ishbal Rebellion, she knew… but they had paid a heavy price. What if the same happened to her? What if one of these people killed her in cold blood? Then how would she keep on living to help Ed and Al?

She slammed a drawer shut and caused many patients to jump, immediately making her feel bad. These poor people were still human, even if they had destroyed Amestris. They were terrified, in constant anguish, and many of them were shell shocked. There was one boy, only sixteen years old, who reminded her so much of Al it hurt to look into his wide, haunted grey eyes. He had suffered severe trauma and wasn't right in the head anymore. He kept asking for his dog and he'd cling onto Winry's sleeve when she made a move to leave, giving her the most petrified look she had ever seen on such a young face until she forcibly detached his fingers and told him in a soft, broken voice that his dog had just gone outside for a walk and she'd be back before he knew it.

Whenever an Amestrian was brought in, the other nurses absolutely refused to treat them. They would skirt around them like they had the plague, shooting ugly looks at the invalids whether they were conscious or not. Especially alchemists. If an alchemist was brought into the ward, the other nurses were more likely to leave the room at breakneck speed as if the Devil had been brought into the room, than help out at all… leaving Winry running around trying to save six dying people at one time.

She sat down on one of the benches between the beds, letting her head sink down between her knees as she let her exhaustion creep up on her for a moment. She had been up for thirty-six hours straight and she could feel the sleep deprivation catching up with her, the world ever so slightly blurry between blinks, her thoughts sluggish and her movements even more so. She let her eyelids droop just for a minute when her brief rest was suddenly disturbed by a loud ruckus downstairs. She heard people yelling commands and demanding answers, the voices loud and only getting louder as they progressed closer to the infirmary ward she was in.

The double doors suddenly slammed open and two men rushed in carrying a stretcher, the limp body on top strapped in securely. Winry immediately shot up, ignoring the way the world spun as the blood rushed to her head, moving over to help in any way she could. It was obvious that the new arrival was Amestrian or the other nurses would have been there to help. Winry scowled. _Does it really matter that much what race you are when you're unconscious and bleeding, after all?!_

"What hap - " The words froze in her mouth. Winry stared down at the blonde-haired, bruised and beaten boy as they laid his stretcher down on the bed, quickly unstrapping him and beginning to treat the massive wound on his leg. She felt the sobs creeping up in her throat as she stared down at him, at the swelling lumps on his face, the darkening bruises on his face, the pouring blood from his calf. … _Ed._

"Nurse! We need to stop the bleeding; get some wrap, now!" one of the medics yelled to her as she froze up entirely, her eyes so wide they seemed to fill her whole face. _Ed… oh God, I had no idea they would… they could… _"_Nurse!_" Winry jumped and ran over to the cupboards, knocking over everything it contained in her frantic search for the heavy pads and gauze wrap. _Ed, Ed, Ed…_

Behind her, the medic pulled his new patient's leg up and searched for a sign that the bullet exited the wound, the flow of words never stopping. "We're lucky, it's only a graze. It took quite a chunk out of his calf though. Definitely severed an artery, most likely the anterior tibial… could possibly be the branch of the peroneal, I suppose… Nurse, where is that wrapping?!" Despite his usual clinical detachment, the medic was growing distressed, knowing that if they let the patient die, the president would be none too happy. That was not an event he wanted to be responsible for.

Winry brought the wrapping over with shaking hands, unable to keep her face neutral as Ed's breathing was ragged and harsh. Everything was snatched from her hands while she watched dumbly as they wrapped his leg, praying desperately to a god she didn't believe in to watch over him for once in his otherwise forsaken life. He just didn't deserve this. After everything he'd been through, he didn't deserve… surely it couldn't have been…… _torture?!_

"Alright, it's just a fever. Nothing much we can do under the circumstances. We've got another call in the stocks. Nurse, take over from here. The President doesn't want this one to die, he's top priority. Got that?"

"W-what happened to him?" Winry asked, choking back the tears.

"He went through an interrogation. Someone obviously lost their temper with him, cause the President clearly stated that he wasn't to be put at any risk of death or… complications." The medic shrugged, as they pulled the stretcher out from under Ed, as smoothly as they could. "I'd call a fever that high 'complications' alright. Someone's gonna pay the price for screwing up the President's plans. Don't let it be you, alright, kid?" He nodded to her with a concerned eye, then turned on his heel and marched towards the double doors.

Winry watched them leave with a gaping mouth, barely having heard the medic's last warning. It wasn't as if she needed orders to take care of Ed, after all. She'd always done that, whether he wanted her to or not. But now… _How could they?! How?! _She looked down at him, so fragile and broken on the bed. His lovely blonde hair was matted with blood from the wound on his face, and she absently took a cloth from the bedside and dipped it in a basin of water, ringing it out and then dabbing gently at the long slice across Ed's forehead and cheek. He flinched slightly at the pain, and she realized he must be coming round. _No… he can't wake up! I don't have any painkillers, and I'm not authorized to… _He stirred, mumbling something incomprehensible as he jerked away from the wet cloth dabbing at his face. She felt the tears escape now that she was alone. "E-Ed?"

He grimaced at the noise and resumed breathing at an unhealthy rate. It was obvious he suffered from trauma. Winry just prayed to God that it wasn't shell shock. His fever was rising rapidly, his temperature spiking to new heights as he came round. Moving quickly, she placed one cold, wet cloth across his forehead and another on his chest, holding them in position when he instinctively tried to shake them off. _Oh, Ed, what did you say to them to make them hurt you so bad?_

"… Win?"

Winry froze and looked over at him, hoping she wasn't hearing things. She smiled, relieved to see he had opened his eyes and was looking up at her, if a little hazily, but that grimace on his face told her of his pain.

"Ed, are you all right?" Winry asked gently through her tears, wiping her face and moving to his side. She made a move to touch his hand in comfort, but he yelled out.

"_No!_ Not… not my hand, Winry…" He paused to gasp for breath, then elaborated at the hurt expression on her face. "That motherfucker… broke it…" He gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes tightly. His breathing wasn't letting up, still a manic struggle for each life-giving draught of oxygen.

Winry looked down at his hand and saw how much it had swollen and how it was purple in color. She shuddered, not even wanting to think about how such a gruesome injury had been inflicted on the delicate hand-bones. It must hurt beyond endurance. "_Ed - _" she began at a whisper, but Ed shushed her.

"Shhh, I'm fine. It's just… some broken bones…"

The young nurse wouldn't stand for it. "Ed, shut up and let me put some splints on it at least! We don't have any casting left, or hand casts, so I can't treat it properly, but I have to do something! What if it heals wrong?"

"Just do… whatever, Win," Ed breathed, keeping his eyes pinned shut. "It won't matter for long… anyway…"

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment at that last comment, then threw it aside with a sigh and turned away from the bed, almost scared to let him out of her sight even for such a short time. Winry got everything together and laid it on the floor next to the bed before regretfully taking hold of Ed's hand in both of her own and lifted it as gently as she could. This was the worst part of being a nurse – causing pain to cause healing. She had thought she'd got used to it, being an automail mechanic when just fitting her creations was more pain than most people encountered in a lifetime, but it was somehow more personal when dealing with people's real bodies. Had Winry been repairing Ed's automail hand, she wouldn't have stopped to think about whether it might hurt him, but with the real, swollen flesh in her soft fingers, she felt clumsy and cruel.

Ed arched his back and groaned as the shattered hand was forced to straighten out, never opening his eyes once. Winry's eyes watered up once more as she wrapped the hand as straight as she could, splinting the broken bones to try and provide it with some support. When it was done, she replaced it gently on the sheets and put her hand on his wrist, wishing she could at least have held his hand to give him some comfort from the pain. She was… so useless…

"Isn't there any way to stop this, Ed? I just… just want it to stop..." Winry felt like a child but enough was enough! All she wanted was to take Ed and Al and go home… was it so much to ask?!

Ed seemed to relax a bit as he took in Winry's words. His eyes fluttered open at long last, unfocused, staring at her as if across a vast distance. "I promise, Win. I'll make… everything better." He peered up at her, smiling weakly. "Have I ever broken a promise?"

Winry swallowed dryly. She couldn't answer that question. There had been just one promise that Ed had broken. All the others, he'd been as good as his word, however impossible the challenge before him. He had promised to get Al's body back and he did, he had promised to make Winry cry tears of joy and she had done when they both returned home, whole and smiling. But then everything had changed. After Granny Pinako had died, Ed was soon called out to Central and Al followed. And... they had never come back. Soldiers attacked Resembool and Den was killed, trying to protect Winry from the soldiers. Such a stupid dog. Her shattered heart finally broke that day, finishing the job that Ed's disappearance had started. All that time, she had been waiting, for a phone call, a letter, _anything_ just to know he was alright or what in the world was going on. She remembered suddenly… on that day he'd left, he had promised Winry he'd come back. She had waited and waited, patient but aching, as she always did… but he had never returned.

Winry got down on her knees and folded her hands across themselves on the bed, resting her chin on them as she gazed down at Ed's white, pain-contorted face. "Do you remember what you told me? The day you left, a few months after Granny died?"

Ed's eyes widened as he looked over at her. She didn't think she'd ever seen pain reflected so clearly in those amber irises. "Win... I-I'm so sorry. I… I-I couldn't – I tried _so _hard. I left Central, Win, I left everyone to try and find you… but I was caught trying to get there. After the war settled, I ran... I tried to come home and save you… but… b-but I…" She watched in shock as his eyes watered up. "I-I'm so sorry, Win. I tried… but this time I swear to you… I _will _make things better."

"Just please don't say anything stupid, you big dummy. Don't give them reason… I don't want them to hurt you anymore." Her last words disintegrated into broken sobs as she began to cry helplessly, wrapping her arms gently around his neck as she buried her face into his automail shoulder and let it all out. All her frustrations, fears, anxiety… everything was wept onto Ed's shoulder. He allowed the contact without complaint; the patients in here were either crazy or passed out so it wasn't like one of them would rat them out about their connection. Instead, he gazed down at his childhood friend, wondering why her beautiful sky-blue eyes always seemed to fill up with tears when he was around. Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around her, avoiding his broken hand and held her close against his bruised, aching body. For the hundredth time, he wished she would stop crying for him. Didn't she know it hurt him just as much to see her sad as it did to have a bullet in his leg? … Why did he always have to hurt her?

"I promise, Win," he murmured into her hair, closing his eyes wearily and hoping she couldn't hear the despair in his voice. "It'll be alright."

Leaning casually against the wall just outside the infirmary room, President Adams listened intently. He had only come up to ask the nurse about FullMetal's condition in the interests of scheduling his next interrogation, but this was more than he'd dared to dream. Sure, he knew some of the nurses in the building were Amestrian girls, but what were the chances of finding the pitiful boy had a loved one right here, in the very same ward he'd been admitted to? Right here, in Adams' grasp… under his control?

It was all just too perfect. The thrice-cursed alchemists were fated to be wiped off the face of the earth… and whether he liked it or not, FullMetal was going to help him accomplish that aim.


	5. Losing it

_Two Months Later..._

The sleek black limousine pulled smoothly into the deserted parking lot, watched by one lone woman as the car slid to a halt and the engine died into silence. Given the identity of the large vehicle's single passenger, hidden behind tinted, bullet-proof windows, one would usually have expected fanfares and armed honour guards. The eerie quiet was an escort all of its own though, and that lone woman who strode across the lot to meet him as he stepped out of the car was more than enough for Daniel Adams. "How was your trip, sir?"

The President grinned at the blonde's familiar serious, straight-to-the-point demeanour. Damn, he'd missed it. "Just fantastic," he replied, his low voice practically dripping sarcasm. "I always fancied a vacation in a hot, dusty, depressingly backwards city in the middle of the endless desert. You should have come with me, Janette. Then it might have been bearable at the least."

Janette smiled slightly, a rare flush of pleasure colouring her white cheeks. He was glad they were alone. Such rare expressions only turned up on her face when there was no-one but him to see. "I've been… busy."

"Of course you have. So have I. But I still spent my time thoroughly hating Lior."

The car suddenly growled back into life as the driver wordlessly pulled away, taking the car to park it in the President's own personal space at the prisoner's camp. Adams wished silently that he wasn't here so often that such a reservation was necessary. Sighing, he turned away from the departing car and headed for the entrance to the camp. Janette walked at his side, keeping pace with his longer legs with practised ease. "What did the new high priest have to say?" she asked, lowering her voice as they headed for the front desk. He wasn't offended at the guns that greeted even his familiar face. Alchemists could do some pretty weird things – he wouldn't put it past them to be able to replicate a face.

Flipping his pass at the guard on the desk and barely waiting for the salute that told him it was accepted, Adams headed past and into the complex. "Told me we're on the right track with the alchemists… that I was blessed by Leto or something." Janette smirked, and he shrugged with a lazy grin. "I didn't complain. He basically declared the whole city for Benole in the name of this Leto guy, so I just said thank you, made a few treaties, and got out of there before he changed his mind."

"He openly declared for us? That's a little early, isn't it?"

"You forget, Janette. The Amestrian Military didn't just terrorize other countries. Their own people suffered under their rule as well." Adam's face hardened, and Janette lowered her eyes in understanding. What the people of Amestris didn't understand was that the President of Benole really did have their best interests at heart. He and the rest of the Benolean forces had tried to bring civilian casualties down to a minimum, focusing their attacks on soldiers and alchemists alone. From what Adams knew of the State Military, it had been corrupt, cruel and entirely uncaring about its people… a hierarchy of greedy bastards who needed to be deposed. "The people of Lior apparently went from being terrorised by a corrupt prophet with some fake stone that amplified alchemic ability, to that Fullmetal runt tearing down that tyrant when he was only fourteen and leaving the people bereft of any authority or guidance, and then finally the army stormed in and went on a bloody rampage to 'regain control'." Adams' mouth twisted with derision. _As if they didn't have control over every move these poor people made anyway. If they made one wrong move, they'd send in their human killing machines._ "Many people moved away, and those that remained hate the military to this day."

"Interesting. What of Fullmetal?"

"They practically worship him for deposing Cornello – the phony prophet. Hero of the People and all that crap. Apparently, the small-minded fools can't see that the army clearly sent the boy in to stir up trouble so they had an excuse to snap up the city while it was weakened. He was no hero, just a dog of the military… a pawn to their devices."

"The more I hear of that boy's history, the more he fascinates me." They walked through the empty white corridors in companionable silence for a moment as Janette pondered that, her eyes on the floor as she thought. Adams waited for her to digest what she'd been told, knowing that she preferred to think in her own time without being rushed. Eventually, she looked up as if suddenly coming back to the real world, her pale blue eyes focused once more. "They don't sound like particularly reliable allies if they can't even see that."

"I know. They said they'd do anything in their power to help us, but I figured I'd make sure of it." The taller man's bright green eyes slid sideways to meet her questioning frown, twinkling with mischief. "I left General Grant there."

Janette snorted, grinning despite herself. "Poor Lior. Nice move."

"I know. Two birds, one stone. Grant can keep those idiots in line… and it gets him out from under my feet. I won't have to watch for a knife in my back now." He sighed suddenly, the mirth on his face fading. "Just the same old hundred knives in my front."

"Well, it sounds like your mission went well enough, Dan."

"I hope so. It certainly took enough time." The same friendly silence took them again as both of them were lost to their thoughts. Adams was beginning to wonder where they were heading – he hadn't really been taking it in, only following Janette with blind trust. Still, by the increase in patrols and the warning '_Authorised Personnel Only_' signs, he could probably guess. _Time to stop avoiding the subject, _he thought bleakly._ Both of us hate it; it's too close to our most painful memories. But it's time to get it over with. Two months is long enough for any kid. _

"How about you, Janette? Have you cracked Fullmetal yet?"

"I regret to say that there have been… complications."

There was a long, expectant pause, in which Adams stopped walking and stared at his companion, expression abruptly suspicious. Janette looked hurt at his mistrust, but eventually her eyes dropped, not raising the subject. To the President, that was as good as a warning signal flashing blue and red on her forehead. "What happened?"

She still wouldn't meet his eyes, but her voice gained a shamed, hesitant catch. "I'm sorry, Dan, but I misjudged him. For such a young man, he's incredibly tough – we did our worst for four weeks and he showed no signs of changing his tune, he just had a rising fever that the nurses were having more and more trouble controlling with each new injury. So I thought I'd try another tactic. Nothing too intense, you know… just a little bit of psychological." She shrugged, as if psychological torture was a normal part of her daily life, as surprising as having eggs for breakfast instead of bacon. In fact, Adams knew, it pretty much was. "We put him in the dark room for a few days, must have been about five, maybe six." The tall blonde hesitated, then finally looked up at him, her eyes narrowed a little in apprehension. "When we let him out, he'd just… slipped away, you know?"

Adams' eyes widened, and he could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat. "Dead?!" _No way… the next step of my campaign was banking on the information that little bastard has squirreled away in his head… How could this have happened?_

He felt a sudden touch on his arm, and looked up to see Janette's reassuring smile. "No, no, he's not dead. But I'm not convinced he's quite this side of sanity anymore. He broke ridiculously quickly and easily, considering how much physical pain he went through without even losing coherency."

"You're telling me he went insane without ever begging?" Adams' words were disbelieving. Two months of torture at the hands of his very own Janette had never failed to exact results. He couldn't believe that that little slip of a boy could outdo many a grown man. _Just what has that kid been through?_

"Oh no, he begged. He begged and pleaded… I've never known a grown man to be so scared of the dark. But he never changed his tune, never cracked, just kept saying he didn't know anything and he never would."

The President's sharp jade eyes darkened as they turned away. "The only men who are scared of the dark are those who know personally just what the darkness can hide," he murmured softly, shooting his companion a penetrating look. The secrets they shared in their own dark past were a wordless, unspoken pain held between them, close to both their hearts. He couldn't help but feel pity and sympathy for Fullmetal when he looked at it that way. "Besides, he is little more than a child, however much I hate to remind myself. Let's pay him a welcome visit then, shall we? How coherent is he?" The tall, lithe man's form suddenly began to stalk forward as if he hadn't stopped with the intention of blowing a full-blown tantrum in the middle of the corridor. The smaller blonde woman followed silently, never far from his side.

"He's just fine when there's someone there, if a little paranoid and jumpy, but that's to be expected. It's when he doesn't know he's being watched that you can see it – he must push it back when there's anyone around to compromise his pride. He slips into his own world, talks to himself… you know."

Adams nodded dully. He'd seen far too many victims of trauma back home not to understand completely.

"Obviously, I haven't been pushing him since that. I didn't want to assess him wrongly again. Unfortunately, that's more than I can say for some of the others…"

He groaned and hazarded a guess. "David Sanderson?"

"Right on target," Janette confirmed, rolling her eyes. "Not a lot of love lost there."

He laughed wryly. "Every one of the prisoners loathes Sanderson with a passion and I don't blame them one bit. What's the big deal?"

"Yes, but David's never hated one of them before." She shrugged as he shot her a startled, questioning look and continued coolly. "He was extracting teeth. The kid managed to get his jaw free. Took the end of David's finger clean off."

"Ouch. He really is a dog of the military."

They neared the end of the highest-security corridor, both of them attempting to step more gently on their booted feet so as to make less noise. Janette had said that they would need to catch Fullmetal off-guard if he wanted to see the full damage done to the boy's mind, so giving him prior warning of their presence with their usual rolling steps would be contradictory to their plans. Adams glanced up and noticed that the security was much more lax than the last time he had been here, when there had been two guards constantly on alert outside Fullmetal's cell. Now, there was just one young man sitting on a rickety old chair, doodling on a piece of well-used paper. He'd evidently been doing it for a while with no disturbances, because his pencil was down to a tiny, knife-sharpened stub and the paper was more gray than white, tiny blank corners of the page being quickly filled in. Apparently, Fullmetal wasn't exactly causing them problems anymore.

At the muffled sound of their footsteps, the man glanced up and blinked hard, then jumped to his feet and was doubtless about to proclaim a loud, "President, sir!" to the world. Adams quickly lifted a finger to his lips in the universal sign for 'shut the hell up' and gestured towards the apparently empty cell. Where was Fullmetal, at that? The last time he'd seen him, he'd spent his time sitting on the empty chair in the middle of the room, staring out at the corridor through the bars and waiting for someone, anyone, to pass by, his strange, golden eyes hard with determination. Now, the cell was silent and still, no sign of movement except… had that been the sound of a weak, breathy voice?

The guard blinked again, big blue eyes confused, before his gaze turned towards the cell with something like pity and he saluted slowly, returning to his seat at the President's insistent gesturing. Adams resisted the urge to chastise the man for his obvious attachment to the boy. After all, it was hardly his fault – the world and his wife seemed to be attracted to Fullmetal's lively personality. He was a very charismatic young man.

But still, what was wrong with that confident kid that it could instil such concern in the eyes of a long-suffering prison guard? Adams crept forward, aware of Janette pacing at his side. He had to stand right next to the bars to finally be able to see Fullmetal, and despite himself, what he saw made his heart clench in his chest.

Curled in the corner of the room, his tight foetal position made only slightly awkward by the loss of his metal arm, Fullmetal gazed through the ceiling into the endless distance. His skin was extremely pale, from blood loss, exhaustion, fever and lack of sunlight, resulting in an almost grey colouring that looked only more pallid in contrast to his bright golden hair. Adams had wondered on first sight whether the kid dyed it to make it that unusual colour, but now that his hair had grown long and ragged, he could see the roots were the same colour as the rest, if not perhaps a little darker from grease. The black shorts that had once so tightly clothed the boy's toned legs were now so ripped and torn that they barely covered anything, and he was bare-chested, shivering compulsively in the chilly prison air. On that exposed skin were a wealth of injuries that looked like they belonged on a corpse – burns, blisters, scrapes, slices, whiplashes, tiny holes where needles had been injected, bruises of every colour, size and shape scattered all over him. The broken hand was still splinted, the bullet wound in his leg nothing more than a knot of healing scar tissue, and several broken ribs pressed out of his emaciated abdomen like jutting claws. There was blood… everywhere.

But it wasn't all this that really alarmed Adams; he knew it looked terrible, but he trusted Janette not to take it beyond what the kid could survive. What he feared was the expression on Fullmetal's face, a distant, semi-conscious smile as his lips moved in silent speech, his glorious amber eyes dull, an intense, absurd fear the only emotion shining through. Between the hideous, certainly agonising destruction they'd wrought on his body, the quiet little smile on those whispering lips, and the utter despair he could see in the depths of Fullmetal's soulful gaze… Adams was certain that the kid was no longer fully with them.

"He was starting to develop symptoms of automail rejection," Janette whispered in his ear, "So we had no choice but to remove the arm. We left him the leg for now, but if he doesn't move around and work his muscles to prevent atrophy, that'll have to go too."

Adams was about to reply that the kid ought to be allowed to die with dignity after his purification ceremony, when that same whisper of sound suddenly came back to him, and this time, he recognised it.

"_S-swing low… s-sweet ch-chariot…"_

The President blinked, then swallowed as he realised that the rasping, broken, almost inaudible voice that reached his ears was Fullmetal… _singing._ Completely unaware that he was being watched, the boy's face twisted for a second in wordless terror, then he dragged in a deep breath and set himself on the next line with fierce determination.

"Coming for to c-carry me… ho… h-home…"

The kid's voice cracked and broke on the last word, and he closed his eyes for a second, strain all over every feature. He hadn't even had his eyes closed for a second before he snapped them open twice as wide, panting as if he'd seen a monster behind his lids. "Idiot," he whispered, apparently to himself. Adams had to strain his ears just to hear the kid, since he couldn't read off barely-moving lips. "Who rides a fucking chariot a-anymore? S-stupid song. They won't ride a… bloody _chariot_ to come and get you. Stupid."

The blind hope he'd seen in Fullmetal's eyes for a moment there belied his words, the despair only more potent, he knew, because of the pathetic nature of his wild hope. _Well, at least he still has some hope._

The kid's dead, hoarse laugh rung around the cell, and Adams saw the guard's head turn out of the corner of his eye. The young soldier's expression was sympathetic but unsurprised as he turned back round, shaking his head silently. "They'll c-c-come on warhorses, not a f-fucking chariot… they'll come… shining like the s-sun. And a… a Philosoph… Ph-Phlos…" He trailed off, the word too difficult for his battered lips to form. "… a S-Stone in every hand… Won't be able to s-stop them… No-one will. No-one. … 'Cause… they'll come. They'll… c-come." He repeated it like a mantra of protection, desperate passion in every syllable, as if the two words were the only thing standing between him and the raging depths of insanity. "They'll come. Don't need… blo… bloody chariots… S-stupid."

Not needing to hear any more, Adams backed away, fighting the automatic waves of pity and guilt that washed over him at seeing the strong-willed boy in such a state. The guard kept his eyes lowered, the crumpling paper in his tightening grip the only sign of the stress he was feeling, but the President knew that if he looked at the guard's expression right now, there would be more hatred there for himself and the other officers than for the heathen alchemist he was guarding. Adams didn't blame him, but he obviously wasn't cut out for the job. He silently resolved to get the young man transferred as soon as he had time. Young, naïve and well-meaning, he'd be put to better use on the streets, looking out for the people of their new colony and trying to help them in any way possible. Working with torture was not a task for gentle souls.

For a long minute, Adams eyed the bars in the front of the cell, deep in thought about his next move. Janette knew better than to bother him – she could probably see the pain in his eyes. _This has gone on too long already. I could have got it out of him two months ago, before I went to Lior. I've been too weak. He's suffered needlessly for it. … Time to bring it to an end already. _"Janette?" he called quietly, and turned back the way they'd come with a final salute to the guard. Knowing she would be following soon after him, he continued talking. "I should have used the girl before," he explained briefly. She would understand. "This was unnecessary. I just… didn't want to have to use a hostage, not after… after what happened. But still… I should have known Amestris' famous hero would never put himself before anyone else."

"It's alright, Dan," came the soft, comforting reply. Her voice was always so calm and collected, his rock to cling to when the waters rolled over his head. So it had always been. "I know. You wanted to get it out of him by any other means before using a hostage as a last resort. It's perfectly understandable. I know why."

"I know you do. He just…" Words were difficult for a moment as a familiar, beloved face flashed before Adams' eyes and an equally familiar, unbearable ache surfaced in his chest. He swallowed hoarsely. "He reminds me of…"

"I know."

Quiet reigned, and in that raging silence were a thousand words that went unsaid. An ice blue stare met a sharp green gaze yet again, and that was all that was needed. Dan and Janette had been together for almost as long as they could remember; neighbours in childhood, housemates in adolescence, comrades in army training and finally partners in this war of revenge that they had both started. The ring on Janette's finger had been nothing compared to the lives they had led together. It was only a symbol of their compassion and understanding for each other, a signature on a piece of paper certifying their boundless loyalty and love. Words weren't needed in such a relationship. They never had been; why start now?

"… Have Fullmetal taken up to the infirmary," Adams commanded eventually. "Leave him to recover for a few hours. Make sure he's treated by Miss Rockbell. I have some business to take care of back at Headquarters… but then I'll be back." Janette nodded simply, and her husband, commanding officer and President smiled thinly, the dim pain of memory still clear in his eyes. "We'll finish this once and for all, Janette. Then maybe, finally, he can rest easy."

~*~

The once cheery streets of Xenotime were almost empty, the silent town a brutal reminder of the state of affairs all over Amestris. Where once there had been morning birdsong and sleepy laughter, there was now just a stillness, a constant tension broken only by the arrival of the Benolean patrol every other day. It was far from the open threats and senseless slaughter of the first few days of the occupation, but now, all the town could do was wait for news, usually borne to them on the lips of smirking soldiers. The violence had died down a lot, order restored and laws established. Identity checks were much rarer, and Amestrians were allowed to return to their residences in the towns so long as they kept inside whenever they could. Alchemists were still being turned in and killed and there was the occasional spot check of a suspicious-looking house or building, but everything was much calmer, except for the almost-tangible fear in the air. It was the calm before the storm, and the people of Amestris were wondering desperately when those metaphorical rains were going to arrive.

A plume of smoke drifted aimlessly upwards from the end of yet another cigarette as one ex-Lieutenant Havoc strode down the narrow road as if he hadn't a care in the world. His blue eyes closed in relieved bliss as the nicotine seeped into his system, relaxing muscles cramped from the fear and tension of going out into the town alone to 'buy some souvenirs'… or so he had told the locals. Nowadays, he sometimes wondered how he would cope without his hourly fag, and was sincerely glad that Mustang had given up trying to put out his cigarettes at every turn. Then again, he'd seen the Colonel at the bottom of a bottle of whisky several times during the past few months, and Hawkeye kept taking off into the wilderness with her gun hidden in her jacket, coming back an hour later with a few cartridges less ammunition and a decidedly less frantic air to her movements. Mustang had turned a blind eye to all of it, muttering only about the wasted ammunition and the state of Havoc's lungs but not trying to stop them. They were all stressed, and with good reason.

Speaking of the Devil, he was supposed to be meeting with Hawkeye and the Colonel himself at the small inn they had taken up residence in. They'd been in the area for just under a week, and as of yet, they hadn't even attracted much attention from the town, let alone the bored soldiers that patrolled the area every so often. Whatever Mustang had done to pass them off as regular refugees turned tourist was beyond Havoc. They had all learnt to keep their faces hidden by turning away from bright lights and looking in shop windows at unobtrusive moments, and had also changed clothing and dyed their hair. Havoc was now a bright bleached blond, Riza had dyed her hair brown and was wearing glasses (the combination of which Havoc couldn't help but notice emphasized her large brown eyes in a new and attractive way), Mustang had gone brunette, and Al had dyed his hair black. All in all, they looked fairly odd to those familiar with their usual appearances, but were pretty much unrecognizable unless you really knew what you were looking for. It was just as well, Jean reflected as he nodded respectfully to the soldiers standing on watch outside the inn. They were nice enough guys, he knew, despite their harsh orders, but that wasn't particularly reassuring when he knew that a bullet between the eyes would be his first warning if they were to find out his true identity.

Pulling his cap down closer to his eyes, Havoc stepped into the inn, automatically scanning the bar for trouble. The innkeeper was behind the bar, eyeing the room as he absently scrubbed at the beer-stained wooden surface in front of him. It was early in the day for troublemakers, but with the tension in town building constantly, people were taking to drink earlier each day. Jean met the old man's suspicious stare with a reassuring smile, not letting any anxiety or panic cross his features as he confidently crossed the room.

Sitting in the corner were Riza and Mustang, sitting on either side of the small, circular table that their two steaming beverages stood on. Riza was poring over a week-old newspaper, one hand wrapped idly round the handle of her mug of coffee, while Mustang was idly scribbling in a small notebook, clenching the pen cap in his teeth as though it were a cigar. Havoc pulled a chair up and gestured with his hand at the table, a casual grin spreading across his face. "Hey, guys. Mind if I join you?"

Riza looked away and flipped the newspaper, leaving Mustang to grunt a terse reply. Havoc sat, shooting a wary glance towards the soldiers posted at the door. Supposedly, they were just there to keep the peace and remind the town of the army's constant presence, but Mustang and his group knew from the outset that their main purpose was to pick up on any town gossip about the resistance or of the whereabouts of any State Alchemists. It had been a very long time since they'd been able to talk freely… not that that had held them back, of course.

"So, Hector, any luck with your souvenirs?" Mustang asked casually, taking the cap out of his mouth and yawning drowsily as he flipped to another page in his book and continued writing. "You said they hadn't got anything new yesterday, but I'm sure someone said the shopkeeper gets her new deliveries near the end of the week."

"Well since you mention it, I did find a rather nice little tidbit," Havoc replied, noticing the way Mustang's eyes widened for just a moment in realization. "The lady was really nice. Helped me find just the thing I wanted." Shooting a glance at the Colonel's half-forgotten coffee, the ex-soldier felt his stomach rumble with sudden desire. "You drinking that, Roger?" Mustang's left eye twitched ever so slightly as his subordinate reached out and grabbed his commanding officer's coffee, taking a long draught without hesitation. "Oh thanks, pal. You have no idea how much I needed that."

"Yeah, whatever," Roy ground out, his dark eyes steely above his big, fake smile. Havoc had no doubt that the usually reserved man wanted nothing more than to pummel him right there and then. If there was one way to tick off Roy Mustang, it was to even think about touching his morning coffee. "So who are the souvenirs for? Have you seen Evelyn lately? I heard you two got in a fight," Mustang said. His eyes glinted with sudden malice. "Such a shame. You know she was just as great a friend to me as you are, Hector."

Havoc raised an eyebrow at the Colonel's hidden insinuation. Usually, he would have continued the playful banter for a while, but this was too important to postpone. Besides, Riza's free hand had left her coffee and was twitching towards her belt, where her gun holster usually would have been. _Always a bad sign._ He sighed dramatically and continued. "Yeah, she's not been having the best time though, so I thought I'd get her something. Apparently, she got in trouble with some thugs. Good thing some soldiers stepped in and stopped it. She got pretty beat up though. I hear she might go camping soon. She really does love the outdoors, and I guess it'll take her mind off things."

Riza looked up, showing open interest for the first time. It was just as well – Mustang looked like he couldn't have formed words just then. "Camp, huh? Around here?"

"Somewhere closer to home, I think. I'm thinking about going to see her… talk her out of it, you know? These are dangerous times, and it's not exactly _safe_ where she is, especially for a girl of her description."

Mustang's eyebrows raised as the corner of his mouth twitched. "That's a good idea. I might come with you. Her sister will be rather happy if you bring her home, after all."

"Ali? Yeah, she would be quite happy. She's pretty miserable; hasn't seen her sister in months," Riza put in, adjusting the glasses on her face. She twitched her fingers on the metal framework three times, giving Havoc the signal. He leaned back in his chair and couldn't help a groan of relief as he felt his back crack.

"Geez, all this reminiscing. I wonder what Connor, Evan and Nella have been up to? I haven't seen them for awhile. You guys know anything?"

"As a matter of fact I haven't seen Nella, who's she staying with? She can't ever seem to stay with one man more than one month, now can she?" Mustang asked absently, still scrawling in his notepad.

"Ah, she's with Talo now. You should see the look on Ryan's face. He's pissed. Too bad he can't see that Amy is head over heels for him, not to mention Lulu. That kid falls in love as easily as blinking."

Riza looked up at the ceiling, frowning, before turning her gaze back on Havoc with one steady blink. "Doesn't Lulu have a daughter now? How old was she again?"

The lieutenant frowned, not catching on for a moment, then brightened. "Oh, forgot for a second there! I remember now, she was born on the 23rd she can't be more than 1 year old now," Havoc said, tracing his fingers along the table. "She's such a cutie. I really… hope she's okay."

Across the table, Mustang wrote down the numbers excitedly next to the letters he'd already deciphered. _**C**__onnor, __**E**__van, __**N**__ella, __**T**__alo, __**R**__yan, __**A**__my, __**L**__ulu._ _23… 1._ As usual, the first letters he had noted down blended into one word, a single name that spelled out hope for them all. _Central 231._ He allowed himself a small smirk of pride at how well his code worked, even in present circumstances. It had never failed him yet. Sector 231was in the west region of Central, not far from the State's seized Military Headquarters. It had to be the location of the camp where they were holding Edward, supposedly with special facilities to house people 'of his description' – namely, alchemists. He sighed and ran a hand through his light brown hair, letting Hawkeye hold up the meaningless conversation so the whole thing didn't look too choreographed. This… was going to be difficult. He had no doubt that there was extremely high security, probably heavy weaponry, traps, locks and coded passwords to get into certain locations of the camp. They'd never let such highly prized prisoners escape without a fight and a half. Still, a challenge had never stopped Colonel Mustang, and it wasn't likely to do so now.

Just as Mustang began planning out his next move – collecting intelligence from his sources, alchemizing gold to bribe the camp guards with, and most importantly finding out whether that damned array that the Benoleans had invented to prevent alchemy was in use at the camp – he heard a shuffling behind him and Alphonse appeared at his shoulder. The boy had his baggy brown pants tied up at the knees and was swamped in a big white shirt. His messenger cap was pulled down and his hair was getting lighter in color. He had been working as a paper boy, getting them a little cash and a lot of gossip, and Mustang was posing as his father.

"Dad? How's Evelyn doing? Is she coming back soon?" Al asked, in his cute little voice that no one would ever suspect. Mustang patted the seat beside him and Al sat down, staring at Roy, unable to disguise his desperate need to know how his brother was.

For the first time, Mustang was able to tell him something substantial, and something reassuring. The Colonel couldn't wait to see the relief on the poor boy's miserable face. "Don't worry, Alan. Hector says she's going to camp, but I'm sure we can talk her out of it."

Al's face broke out in a wide grin, and as Mustang watched, his other two subordinate's expressions brightened in tandem. The kid had been fretting for months about how on earth they were ever going to find Edward, dragging their whole party's spirits down with every tear he shed. Now they finally had a lead on where he could be.

It was far from a perfect situation, but they had some hope at last. With any luck, they could get to Fullmetal before anything serious happened…

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***yawns* Message from Kib Man I'm getting tired:"Mwahaha, the plot thickens! Poor little Ed has bad things coming to him, that's for sure. (When does he ever not?) Yeah, just want to apologise (yes, with an 's'!) in advance for any discrepansies in spelling. As NightShine and I are co-writing now, half of this was written by me, and half was written by her. She's American, I'm English. We weren't sure which spelling to go with, so we went with both, so there'll be some 's's and some 'z's in our verbs in there. Sorry if that offends anyone, just thought I'd point it out before anyone else did! Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, and hope you enjoy!"**

**ART NOTICE!!!!!!!! My friend talked me into it and I'm thinking of doing a comic of a select few chapters from my stories. Only from my fav chapters though. Ugh, its gonna be a pain in the ass, but whatever, I'll find a program that'll help me make it look like a comic. But it'll be a few weeks before I even start, cause I have to practice drawing Ed a lot before I can even attempt to free hand him. -_-" Yeah, but this week I'm going to try to draw a pic of Ed from this scene. I'll put a link in to the pic when its done. It was Kibs request so I'll do it. **


	6. Pushed

**"Kib wants to take her (massive) share of the blame for this new posting schedule and any delays that may follow because college is hectic (and she is a lazy, good-for-nothing, nocturnal procrastinator). Please accept an extra long chapter and Kib's sleep deprivation as penance. On the story side... mwahaha, enter the Flame!"  
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**Sorry that I didn't post on Sunday, I was traveling around maine and checking out horses for this place I now work at. Yes, I'm working on weekends (great there goes my break) But at least it's barn work (which I enjoy) And I didn't get home until 11:30pm and the minute I got home I hit the bed and fell asleep in 2 seconds. I was exhausted.**

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The constant beeping of the bedside heart monitor was well worth the discomfort of the various needles in his arm and the constant fussing of the handful of nurses who had been press-ganged into looking after the semi-conscious alchemist, Ed decided eventually, as he lay in the hard, uncomfortable bed with his eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Somewhere down the line, he'd become aware of the fact that he had learnt to sleep with his eyes open, but he still wasn't sure exactly when that had happened. He flinched slightly without ever moving his eyeline; the mousy-haired young Benolean nurse had jerked the IV line particularly hard as she checked on it, no doubt still terrified of him. Ed was far past the point of being frightened of needles now. When they'd first brought him into the infirmary in critical condition, it had required all four guards to hold him still enough for sedatives to even be administered. He'd later woken up to find himself wired up to several machines and even more bags of fluid, and panicked, ripping out all the needles and lying trembling as the pain of a hundred different bruises re-established itself at the forefront of his mind. Since then, he'd had far too much time to get used to the prick and sting of a needle. He'd even come to realise that Al had always been right – the little prick wasn't such a big deal really.

Mousy, as he was calling her in his mind, gave one last peremptory tug at the bandage around his wrist and moved away, her footsteps echoing through the quiet room as she turned to another patient. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Ed smiled slightly. _The 'quiet' room. Not silent. Finally, not silent. _The beeps were background noise, something that the rest of the ward had no doubt learnt to tune out or found incredibly irritating, but it was all that was keeping Ed sane. With something, _anything_, to listen to, he could relax. He didn't have to whisper constant one-sided conversations in the gloom, sing the few, shitty songs he knew the words to, or tunelessly hum the ones he didn't. He didn't have to moan pitifully to the guard outside to speak, to come in and beat him up, to scream and shout, even just to kick something every now and again, just to make some kind of sound. The silence was filled, the empty hole inside him centred around something real, and the chilling, debilitating fear was gone. He felt comfortable, and safe.

… For now.

At that single thought, Ed's hands fisted in the bedsheets as panic flashed through him like fire, and he heard the beeping speed up, a frantic counterpoint to the racing pulse suddenly thundering in his ears. He saw Mousy turn to glance across the aisle at him, eyes concerned until she saw his familiar symptoms – fast pulse, dilated pupils, short laboured breaths and beads of sweat trickling down his face. Images flashed across the young alchemist's vision, flashbacks of a time not so long ago that would take much longer than a single human lifetime to be erased from his mind.

_Flashes of pain, almost as vivid as when they had first happened, in his broken hand, his bullet-torn leg, his cracked ribs, his electrocuted automail ports, his whip-torn back, his dislocated shoulder, his unhinged jaw… The ghostly remnants of pain began to fade, replaced by a row of faces, some deadly serious, some grinning, all conspiring how best to cause him pain. He saw eyes of ice blue, moss green, pale hazel and a deep, deep brown that reminded him of woodland shadows creeping in the night. Each pair gazed at him, never blinking even as he screamed and twisted, trying hopelessly to escape the pain and the stares._

_Then suddenly, everything just stopped. Pain, screams and accusing eyes all disappeared, the swirling chaos of sounds and sights fading to black. For a long, fearful moment, there was nothing, the darkness just one big vacuum of sensations swallowing him up. Then he heard it._

_Drip._

"Oh God, Ed!"

_He listened to it, the single sound in the emptiness making up his whole world. He could still feel the vibrations of that single sound, could just about hear the trickle of a miniscule amount of water seeping along the cracks in the cold, stone floor. A feeling of immense relief escaped him in a wave, bleeding out into the air and saturating it with his feeble hope. A leak? Condensation from the icy-cold air? He didn't care, he just knew that where there was one drip, others were sure to follow. He waited, trembling with anticipation. The chilling silence began to encroach on his bubble of hope again, and he began to shake in earnest. Just a drip. That was all he needed. A drip. A sound in this silence; a shifting in this stillness. Just a drip… just… a…_

_Drip._

"Ed, come back to me!"

_Like the effects of some strange drug, potent and addictive, he was engulfed by a rush of relief as he felt the boons of yet another respite from the tension pressing in on him from all sides. It was too good to be true; insane, that something so small could have such a great effect. He felt peace seep into his tremoring heart as another drip followed the second, seemingly even closer behind. Every sense, every thought, every raw, base instinct, was hanging on the next one. His sanity was clinging to that sound like a lifeline, the black madness shattered with each falling droplet._

_Drip._

_And then, without any warning, nothing came. The drips stopped… and all that was left to fill the raging silence were Ed's raw, broken screams._

"ED!"

The trembling, clutching, _clawing_ fingers entangled in his matted hair were what eventually drove him back to the present, his eyes snapping open to find tear-filled baby blues gazing down at him. Ed reflexively jerked away from the hands on either side of his sweat-soaked face, his semi-conscious mind automatically taking such an invasive touch to be a precursor to torture despite the reassurance written all over the concerned, familiar face. His instincts had been all that had kept him alive several times in the past two months – knowing when to roll with a punch that would have splintered his jaw, learning when to feign unconsciousness even though the pain refused him rest, realising that there was a time for defiance and a time for anguished pleas. Those impeccable, all-knowing instincts that now ruled his life were telling him that touching was off-limits. When he saw the hurt on her face, he wished feebly that he could remember how to defy them. "… Winry?"

"I'm sorry, Ed," she gasped, obviously trying not to let the tears fall. "I didn't mean to scare you, I was just trying to… to bring you back."

Ed opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, but ended up letting his jaw fall back into place without a word. _Bring me back. Oh. From… that. Oh right._

"You're safe, Ed. They won't hurt you here."

The young alchemist's half-lidded eyes lowered to stare at the bed sheets, trying to enforce Winry's words with solid facts. He was in a hospital bed, not a dark, cold, empty room. He wasn't alone – Winry was there with him, trying hard to smile reassuringly, but failing at the sight of the dull cast to his eyes. And most importantly, there was that simple, repetitive beeping to root him to reality. And at that moment in reality, Winry was worrying about him.

_That won't do._

Winry watched helplessly as one of Ed's trademark, wide, ear-to-ear grins broke out across his face, jarring in its intensity on his pale, worn complexion. It had all the normal amount of stunningly white teeth, that slight mischievous twist to his lips, the way he always stuck his chin out belligerently as if challenging the world… but there was not a single hint of the usual light in his gold eyes. She stared at the fake grin, barely even hearing his confident, empty words of reassurance as she felt a lump rise in her throat. "I know, Winry, I'm gonna be fine!" Even now, even after everything he'd been through, he was trying to protect her. The only emotion she could see in his previously blank, half-dead eyes was concern for her, and the determination not to make her worry.

It was typical. He always hid his pain. He could never put himself before anyone else – it was always somebody else he was fighting for, always someone else's happiness he was trying to maintain. Her eyes filling with tears, Winry opened her mouth to tell him to stop being an idiot and just admit he was hurting for once, but the words froze in her throat. _Come on, say it! _she shouted silently at herself._ Tell him… tell him to just let it out! He's the one who needs reassurance now, not me! _But she simply couldn't say it. The tears spilled down her cheeks, betraying her fear and her intense, unshakable desire for his comfort.

Forgetting the presence of any observers, Winry leant forward from where she knelt beside the hard, unyielding bed until her head lay next to Ed's on the pillow, not daring to touch a single inch of his injured form. Her body shook with silent sobs as she buried her face in his hair, the only thing that was familiar in this alien place. She inhaled softly, the old, soothing scent of his hair and the close proximity to his warm, feverish skin sending her back to old memories of Resembool within seconds. She didn't fight the memories as they took her over, too weak even to stay with Ed in this hell they were living.

Opposite the bed, still staring dumbly at the oblivious pair from where she had been all along, the small, mousy nurse stood and hesitantly left the room. Luckily for the both of them, she said nothing of what she had seen. But it didn't leave her mind.

Daniel Adams strode into the infirmary building, flanked by two hulking bodyguards. He had modeled his face into an expression of pure, intimidating arrogance and confidence – any unfortunate bystander would have thought he had won the war already. He waved his guards off and went up the stairs by himself, his hands clasped behind his back, fixing a new mask on his face. This was the one he liked to call his 'presidential mask'; he had a permanent half-smile on his otherwise smooth face, as if he saw the world from behind kindly eyes that knew a little more about everything than those who were looking on them. As soon as he stepped into the room, he knew he was going to need it. The blonde, blue-eyed nurse who was his target wasn't hard to locate, standing at the bedside of one of the shell-shocked boys with his hand enfolded in her own. Adams regarded her silently for a moment, relishing and using the opportunity to study her while she was unaware of his presence.

The young nurse, Winry Rockbell, had one of the kindest smiles he'd ever seen. Usually, he'd scoff at the idea that you could trust someone just on what their smile looked like – he was proof enough of that fact; he'd often been told he had one of the sweetest smiles around – but there really wasn't a single inch of guile on that face. Even shell-shocked, the boy she was treating was gazing, entranced, into those big blue eyes as she spoke quietly to her uncomprehending patient, occasionally laughing with a mirth that barely even sounded forced. Adams caught himself staring – she really was gorgeous. Small wonder that Fullmetal had taken such a liking to her. He glanced over at Fullmetal's bed, suddenly remembering the boy's condition and steeling himself to see the half-crazy kid muttering to himself again. He was staring at the ceiling with a dull look on his face, but his lips were sealed and he didn't appear to be panicking anymore. There was a sharp intensity in his eyes, as if he was concentrating hard on something important. Turning a clinical eye on the boy, Adams noted that his color was coming back and his breathing was more regular now, despite the raging fever he'd been told about. It was definitely time to bring this to a close.

"Oh! President Adams!" a voice cut into his thoughts. He turned his head to find the Rockbell girl staring at him, eyes wide. "Can I help you?" Practised as he was, he could easily pick up on the flicker of fear in her eyes as she smiled shakily, her voice tremoring slightly. Obviously his sweet smile and impeccable manners wouldn't be enough to get her to trust him completely, but it was worth a shot for the time being. He glanced over at Fullmetal again and noticed the young man was looking straight at him, a fierce glare fixed on his face, as if daring him to say one thing against her. The corners of Adams' lips turned up slightly. He was certainly looking better.

He turned back to Winry, a pleasant but not overly patronizing smile slipping easily on over his smooth mask. "You can indeed, my dear. Would you mind giving me and this young man a moment? I'd like to speak with him privately."

"I…" She hesitated for a moment, big blue eyes shooting a concerned look at Ed, then she bowed shortly and left the room, shutting the door behind her with one last backward glance, perhaps hoping for some reassurance from her 'patient'. Although Adams was watching for it, she received no such look from Fullmetal, whose eyes still hadn't moved from their steely death-glare. _Well of course. No doubt he's been trained to go undercover. She's received no such training. If anyone slips up, it will be the girl._

Eyes narrowing slightly over his too-calm smile, Adams moved over to his bed side and brought up a chair, sitting down. Fullmetal was restrained needlessly, his single wrist and limp ankles tied securely, the cords cutting into atrophied muscles that hadn't moved under their own steam for weeks. _He _had nothing to fear. The boy, unfortunately, wasn't so lucky. "So Fullmetal," Adams began pleasantly, "how are you feeling?"

Unsurprisingly, it didn't work. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, bastard?! You only want me better so you can set your thugs on me again!" he spat as Adams smirked. The boy certainly was unrecognizable from his broken, cowering self of earlier today. Why, if only looks could kill, then Amestris would have no problems.

"You are right there, Fullmetal. If only I could find an easier way to break you." The President made sure not to make eye contact as he paused for dramatic effect, allowing the full meaning of that warning to sink in. _Oh but how paranoid has dear Fullmetal become in these few short weeks? Or do I need to give him another hint?_ Green eyes slid sideways, studying every line on the young alchemist's face for the reaction that would surely follow. "You and that beautiful nurse seem to be getting along just fine by the way… know her well?"

The kid's eyes widened slightly before he could control himself. If anyone less experienced was watching him, it could easily be mistaken as embarrassment, perhaps confusion… or possibly, just maybe, fear. "No, of course not," Fullmetal drawled, attempting to emanate nonchalance despite his gritted teeth. "You might not have noticed, President Shitface, but there are lots of nurses here, being an _infirmary _and all. Be a little more specific, and maybe I'll know who you're talking about."

Adams grinned. _Good save, Fullmetal. Very good. _"No? Ah, well maybe I should go get her, hmm? I was thinking of testing something out anyways." He let an amused look cross his features as he stood smoothly and moved over to the door with the confident steps of a stalking panther, Fullmetal's suspicious eyes following his every move. Opening the door, he looked out into the hallway. She was standing against the wall and jumped when she saw him. He had no doubt she'd been listening at the door. _She's got spunk. I like that._

"M-Mr. Adams?" she gasped, trying and failing to force an innocent, slightly curious expression onto her face.

"Why, would you mind coming back in for a moment? I would like to discuss something with you and Fullmetal."

It became even clearer that this girl had no such training as Fullmetal had as he escorted her into the ward, closing the door behind her as she shuffled towards the alchemist's bed. He could see the fear in her eyes and the trembling in her tensed muscles as she turned back round to face him, evidently trying not to look at Fullmetal now she'd guessed what this was about.

It was much too late for denials, of course. "This is the young lady I was speaking of, Fullmetal," Adams said insistently, gesturing at the shivering nurse as she clasped her hands in the front of her apron and lowered her head, staring intently at the floor. "Surely you know her?"

The boy's lips pressed together tightly, but his voice remained steady, minus the almost feral growl infesting his words. "Why would I, you bastard? I'd never seen her until she started sticking needles in me after one of your goons nearly blew my leg off."

"Well that certainly is interesting, kid. Very interesting." Adams shot a glance at the heart rate monitor. Fullmetal might be doing a good job of pretending he was calm, but his pulse was sky-rocketing. "I remember hearing something like," – he put on a decent impression of the younger man's tenor, attempting to mimic the care and devotion he'd heard in those words as well – "_'I'm so sorry, Win. I swear to you I will make things better.' _Now to me, that doesn't really sound like something a total stranger would say."

Fullmetal kept a good poker face on while he seethed. "I've told you already, Adams, I don't know her."

The taller man towered over the resilient young prisoner, sighing dramatically as he muttered under his breath, "Alright then, if that's how you want to play it…" In a flash, he reached out and grabbed the girl's wrist, twisting her arm around behind her back and pulling her defenseless body up against him before she could even yell out. Her eventual cry was hastily stifled as her captor pulled his gun out from his belt and pressed the muzzle to her temple, his cool gaze never leaving Fullmetal's wide gold eyes. "Well now, Fullmetal. You're a soldier; you've seen all this before. If you don't know her then it shouldn't bother you too much if I blew her brains out right here and now, right?" A faint whimper cut through his chilly tone, and Adams shot a glance at the girl, wishing he didn't feel so guilty. Still, not an inch of it showed on his face.

Fullmetal had already lurched upright despite his massive abdominal trauma, eyes burning with wrath. "You motherfucker, let her go!!" His voice cracked as the toll his month-long screams had taken on his abused vocal cords finally made itself known. He coughed weakly, spitting a small amount of blood, but it didn't seem to phase him at all. His mind seemed to be focused solely on Winry's plight. "She has no part in this! Of course I care if you kill a innocent civilian!"

_Game…_

The President pressed home his advantage, pulling back the pistol for the split second it took to cock the loaded weapon. The click rang painfully loud in the dead silence of the infirmary ward. "Then you wouldn't mind taking her place? How about I blow your brains out? Sound like a better deal?"

Adams could feel the girl quivering against him as Fullmetal clenched his broken hand in a weak, tremoring fist. "Of course I will - !"

… _Set…_

"… Fine." Tightening his hold on Winry's slight form, the President turned the gun on Fullmetal without hesitation. Both of his helpless captives watched, mesmerized, as he sighted down his arm with an expert's eye, aiming straight for the boy's blonde head. His finger tightened on the trigger, he drew in a half-breath… and still nothing. Adams frowned slightly. _Shit, they're really gonna call my bluff…? _He was about to lower the gun and think of a plan B very, very quickly, when suddenly, _finally_, the girl screamed out, "No, Ed! Don't!"

… _And match._

Victorious laughter burst from Adams' mouth, making Winry's head fly round in a flurry of blonde locks to stare up at him in shock and fear. The game was up, he had won, and the winner takes it all. There was no point in hiding behind his friendly smiles anymore. "You foolish girl," he sneered, pushing the girl away from him as he put the safety back on the pistol and returned it to his belt. "You really thought I'd shoot him?! All the things going around in that clever little head of his could win me this war. It would be an incredible waste to put a bullet in all that knowledge, however tempting the thought might be. But luckily for me, you were stupid enough to fall for it." Before his eyes, the little resistance and anger that had been left remaining in that once-strong countenance wilted away to nothing, and she staggered back against the wall as if she had been struck.

Ignoring her now that he was sure she wasn't a threat, his disdainful gaze fell once more on the young alchemist. The beeping from the heart monitor was incredibly fast now, the lines on the screen peaking and falling at much too high a rate to be healthy. He hastily reminded himself that Fullmetal was supposedly perilously close to death, dealing with a potentially fatal fever and multiple internal injuries. He would try to keep the kid's fear levels to a minimum. But still… what had the girl called him when she shouted out her warning? _No way… too ironic. It can't be… _"… _Ed, _was it? Short for… for 'Edward', I imagine?" Fullmetal didn't respond, but the slight tightening around his eyes answered for him. _Shit. Edward. He really is._ For half a second, Adams' mask came crumbling down, but Ed was far too pre-occupied to notice the flicker of grief across the President's face before the mask came up even harder than before. "I'm sure you realize you can't cover up the truth anymore," the man stated quietly, his voice all the more dangerous for its sudden softness.

The kid – _Ed _– stared at his friend with dawning terror and realization, pure fear sinking into his face with every new, labored breath he dragged into his aching lungs. "No, leave her out of this," he gasped hoarsely, his voice broken as he turned haunted yellow eyes on the President. He swallowed painfully, and threw his pride away. "Please, I beg of you." Everything the young alchemist had put up as a defiant, 'tough guy' act was crumbling down. His shoulders slumped, heaving up and down with every breath, and his body was shaking uncontrollably. Adams had won and he had lost, and it was far too late to deny it now.

"I'm sorry, Fullmetal. I must use what I can to get what I want."

"I've told you everything I know, I swear!"

Adams rolled his eyes. _This again? _"… We'll see."

The boy bent his head low, giving into defeat. "Just… please… _please, _don't hurt her."

For a long moment, Adams watched the _finally_ broken alchemist as he waited for a reply, hanging on every last sound that came from the President's mouth. At long last, the boy would do anything he was told, and yet, all the man could feel was sharp, hot regret. "_That, _Fullmetal, is all up to how well you co-operate."

~*~

Ed let himself be hauled from the infirmary to the familiar interrogation cell, his heels dragging along the floor. Even with the bag over his head, as per usual, he knew this route like the back of hand now. He had lost count of the number of times he'd been torn from the warm haven of his bed and the sanctuary of the heart monitor, and marched, then later supported, and now carried down countless corridors until he reached his own personal Hell. He counted steps as the guards holding him walked, his arm wrapped around one soldier's shoulder, the man on his other side hoisting him up by his torn black shirt without ceremony. The heavy boots thudded on the stone floor like the seconds ticking down to doomsday, but Ed focused on them like a lifeline. Normally he'd be frightened about losing the steadfast protection of the infirmary's beeping comfort, but right now, he didn't care about himself. Winry was walking ahead of him, Adams at her side. Whenever she hesitated, the President's firm hand pressed between her shoulder blades, pushing her onwards. Ed felt his eyes narrow in helpless fury. He couldn't believe it. They were going to use Winry against him, hit her and hurt her until they got what they wanted from him. But he had nothing to give. He knew nothing, and he knew from previous experience that they definitely wouldn't accept 'I don't know' as an answer. He would be powerless to stop this, powerless to save one of the most precious people in his world.

He would rather have died back in the infirmary.

The sound of a door slamming open was Ed's only warning as the bag was ripped off his head and light flooded in, making him blink despite how dim it was. His head was aching fiercely from the fever his body was barely keeping at bay – Winry had told him – and such rapid visual adjustments weren't helping. As procedure, he was belted in the chair once again and he felt his heart double its pace. Winry was sitting across from him, unrestrained, but watching him with the same childlike dependency that he'd noticed on her face earlier, along with… shame. Ed didn't know if he could forgive her, putting herself in danger like this in the vain hope of protecting him. He had never been in any danger; he'd known it all along. Why couldn't she just have stayed out of it, and made sure she wasn't hurt?

His train of thought suddenly stopped as he felt something shifting into place in his mind. Was this what it had been like for Winry all those years ago? Had she felt like this every time Ed went away for weeks on end and never called, only ever showing up in Resembool broken and bruised? This feeling of overwhelming fear and worry because of the stupidity of someone you loved putting themselves in harm's way… it was maddening. No wonder Winry had been so mad all those times. No wonder she had been so quick to cry. It felt like his heart was about to burst free from his chest, and his battered ribs just weren't enough to hold it in. Ed silently vowed that if they both got out of this alive, he would apologize profusely and make her swear never to do it to him again.

"So, Fullmetal," came that cursed voice. If he hadn't hated Adams enough at the beginning of all this, he knew he could kill the man with few regrets now. He hadn't actually participated in much of the… _torture…_ but everything had been at his command. Everything. "I want to start with a name."

Ed looked up dully, withholding the answer purely out of habit as his mind trailed sluggishly along behind the President's words, before he remembered that Winry was still gazing at him – in the cell, under threat. Unfortunately, he didn't answer quick enough. The hated man grabbed Winry by her long hair and she gasped loudly.

"E-Edward Elric!" Ed shot quickly, fear for Winry overcoming any sense of pride left. _This isn't fair… she never did anything to deserve this!_

"Now, was that so hard?" Adams asked smugly, never loosening his grip on her hair. "I'm not cutting you any slack, so I'd listen if I were you, _Edward_." Ed blinked at the strange way the man said his name. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, not with his head as muddled as it was. "Answer me. _Where is the Flame Alchemist?_"

His head fell forward as if his neck couldn't support its weight anymore. "I don't know," he answered, his voice small. "I can't tell you. I can't. I swear to you!"

His captor released one of his usual dramatic sighs and Ed heard Winry gasp and fall forward as Adams let go of her. Ed felt a small twinge of hope that he would let the girl go, but this interrogation had only just begun. The pair of them watched in horror as Adams went to the door and knocked three times, then stood aside as another, familiar person slipped in, slamming the door firmly behind him. Ed pulled back visibly, trying and failing to keep his terror off his face as his mind slipped from his rigid control. _No. No, no, no. Not Winry. No!_

"I have to admit I'm not one to torture women," Adams told them softly, his gaze fixed on Ed's barely hidden reaction, as were the other occupants of the room. "But you know my friend here, don't you, Fullmetal? He's not so gentle, as I'm sure you're aware."

_Screaming even after his torn, inflamed throat had ceased to make a sound, pleading and begging for the wrenching in his flesh shoulder to stop, for the invasive fingers to stop jabbing at the bare nerves in his damaged automail port, for the arm around his throat to loosen enough for his weakening, hyperventilating lungs to gather enough air to dispel the haze across his vision…_

Tearing free of the flashback with conscious effort, the alchemist shook as he gasped for air, shaking his head in fervent denial as he stared at the smirking intruder. Those deep, dark brown eyes met his glare fire for fire, something straight from his nightmares. "No!" he yelled, "Not him! Anyone but him! I won't let you near her, you bastard!"

The man stepped closer, and Ed wished not for the first time that he could back away or at least run and hide in the corner. "Won't let me, Fullmetal?" the smooth, snake-like hiss replied, making him shudder anew. He knew every feature of the man's face, every line and every quirk on permanently smirking lips. The only time he'd seen that pale, thin face without its customary self-satisfied grin was the moment he'd regretted for weeks after, when he'd finally managed to give the man a taste of his own medicine. Not only had he been made to suffer for it, he'd also been brutally gagged for a week afterwards, until his lips and gums had been too bruised and swollen to think about biting food, let alone people. _David Sanderson. _Ed looked over at Winry. She hadn't uttered a single word ever since this began, but he could see her trembling and tears were starting to form in her eyes. _I can't let this happen. Not her, not him… no._

"No! You can't!" he insisted, his broken hand once more pulling free of its splint as he clutched at the arm of the chair. That would be the sixth time Winry would have to re-splint it. If she survived. … _Fuck._ He had to provoke Sanderson. He was a hot-headed bastard, he knew. If he could just draw the man's anger to the prisoner who'd nearly bitten off his finger… "Interrogate me, you bastards! Or am I so hard to break you have to resort to the lowest of the low?! Even Bradley wouldn't have gone as low as interrogating an innocent girl, you heartless bast– !!"

He was interrupted by a full-armed slap to the face that would have knocked him off his feet if he'd been standing. He took it without complaint, knowing he'd got off lightly, despite Winry's horrified cry. "Defending that monster, you little shithead?" Sanderson hissed. "Well it's too bad the President has a moral center and therefore can't even be _compared_ to your bastard of a Fuhrer. We're not interrogating her, we're just trying to squeeze a little information out of _you_. You got that, Fullmetal? Her fate's in your hands. Just tell us what we want to know."

"I don't know! I swear on my life! I swear, I fucking swear!" Ed felt himself panicking, his already diabolical pulse rate climbing yet higher. He was going against all of his training; a prisoner was never to show outright terror in an interrogation room. _It's bullshit. Whoever wrote the rulebook was never in this situation. Never… never._

Sanderson didn't look disappointed. Not in the least. On the contrary, his smile seemed to broaden. "Alright then." The man walked over to that hateful table and eyed the items arrayed across its smooth, blood-spotted surface. "Let's play a little game, shall we, metal boy?" Ed watched closely as he covered his eyes with one hand and reached down to the table, splaying his fingers like a blind man relying on his sense of touch. "These are the playing pieces, so to speak, Fullmetal, but seeing as they all look like so much fun, I'm having trouble deciding. I'm going to randomly pick an item, and then I'll use it on her until you tell me everything the President wants to know about the Flame. Understand?" Winry whimpered faintly as he clasped his hand around a metal object, and Ed's wide, helpless eyes turned to her for a second before they turned back to the table.

His eyes widened even further, and he gulped. The metal contraption Sanderson lifted from the wooden tabletop were familiar to him – far too much so. It may have been small and deceptively innocent-looking, but he knew that it was one of the worst torture devices on that table. His heart clamored in his chest, beating futilely against its bone prison to try and get to Winry as she turned her eyes down to the floor and shook silently, already accepting her fate.

"Stop it! Stop it, now!"

The man ignored Ed's protests and held the contraption out to Winry. "If you would, sweetheart, hold out your hands? We don't need to make this any harder than it has to be. After all" – he shot a malicious look at the alchemist from the corner of his eye – "it's not your fault this is happening."

Winry bowed her head as she hesitated for a second, never looking Ed's way. Eventually, her shoulders heaved with a suppressed sob and she held up her trembling hands.

Teeth gritted, Ed screamed out again. "Bastard, you bastards! Leave her alone!!!"

As usual, his pleas went ignored, and Sanderson continued to fit the thumbscrews into place, twisting the screw latches tight enough to stay onto Winry's small thumbs. When he was done, he looked up at his other prisoner, smiling sweetly. "Okay, Fullmetal. You don't want your little girlfriend's thumbs ripped off, now do you?"

Ed shook his head frantically. "Please. Oh fuck no, please, I'm begging you. Don't hurt her!"

"Answer the President's questions and she'll be just fine," the man replied in that familiar, psychotic voice. He was enjoying this – the terror on both his victim's faces, the power of playing with their fates and the ability to inflict physical and emotional pain with every action he took. Winry was on the verge of tears _again_ and Ed instantly wanted nothing more than to pound these motherfucker's faces in. _So helpless. Dammit!_ "Sir?"

"Okay, let's start simple," Adams sighed. "Colonel Roy Mustang. Flame Alchemist, ambitious young bastard, had aims towards the Fuhrership. Tall, dark, handsome… and supposedly an incurable womanizer." One of Sanderson's eyebrows climbed into his wild, tangled hairline. "Also your commanding officer for the past seven years, Fullmetal, and if my sources are correct, the man who recruited you in the first place. I'm well-informed where that man is concerned. Your squad was traveling together – don't deny it, I know it's true – so it's not possible that you could have no idea of where they were heading."

"After you bastards blew up the refuge on the lake we were separated!" Ed snapped. "No-one else even _survived _that explosion; they probably think I'm dead. I have no idea where anyone is! And I've _told _you all this before!"

"I'm sorry, kid, but that's not the answer I'm looking for," Adams replied, and the regret in his voice sounded deceptively genuine as he caught Sanderson's eye and nodded. In contrast, there was only glee in Sanderson's eyes as he grabbed the thumbscrews and twisted each screw achingly slowly, almost _gently _tightening the contraption to the point where Winry gasped and tried to pull away, suppressing a pained moan. Tears broke out at last and she shook her head.

"Take them off! Take it off!" she cried, the words only tearing harder at Ed's heart.

The boy pulled against his restraints with all his feeble strength, ignoring the searing pain from a thousand protesting injuries. "You're hurting her! Stop it!" Sanderson only grinned lazily at him, a perfect counterpart to his President's expectant stare. The effect was clear – they'd only stop when he told them what they wanted to hear. Not necessarily what they _needed _to hear, though… "Th-they're in Central!" Ed gasped, certain that Mustang wouldn't be stupid enough to stay in the heart of the Benolean occupation on the off-chance that his subordinate was still alive. Ed struggled to think of a plausible lie around the haze in his mind. He hadn't needed his wits till now, and hadn't realised how debilitating the continuous fever really was. His head pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a new wave of dizziness and pain arriving with each rush of blood. "They said something about… h-hiding out at Mustang's favorite joint! Western sector, near HQ… something like… something…" It really was one of Mustang's preferred bars, that was the annoying part about not being able to remember its name. "Something to do with the _Siren_…"

He trailed off as Adams gave him a disapproving look and shook his head knowingly. "Not there, Edward. We heard that from another acquaintance of his, and I ordered a full search _and _have that place under a twenty-four hour watch."

Not needing a signal this time, Sanderson twisted the thumbscrews harder than before, making Winry scream. Ed heard a snap in his battered left hand as he strained against the belts holding him, even attempting to stand despite the fact that he _knew _the chair was bolted to the ground. Rational thought was slipping further away with each sound of anguish Winry made. "Please stop! Stop!" His childhood friend screaming like that was one of Ed's worst nightmares. He had never wanted to hear her in pain like that. He'd held himself at a distance all these years, walked away and only returned when necessary, so that she would never be hurt like this on his account. He'd tried to protect her. He'd tried so _hard._ He felt his eyes water up as he realised he couldn't do anything. When it mattered, when he was really needed… he was just so _powerless!_

"The old HQ building! They're there!" Ed shouted, kicking himself as soon as he'd blurted out the words. He hadn't thought that one out, and it was obvious.

Winry's captor burst out laughing, and Ed cringed away from the typical, cutting cackle that had haunted his nightmares for weeks. "Are you enjoying her pain as much as I am, you little liar?! How stupid do you think we are?! There's plenty of old paperwork in the complex that's under constant armed guard. How's a whole squad gonna hide from two hundred sentries, huh? Now tell – the – TRUTH!"

Once again the screws were tightened, one brutal twist for each of his final words. Winry yelled out her pain again and aimed a sharp kick at the man's knee but he only laughed, smoothly side-stepping her attack. She had been tugging downwards, trying to pull the device off, but the other guards held her back against the chair. Blood trickled off the device and onto the floor as the tears rolled down her face; her thumbs weren't broken yet but they were close, and Ed knew the pain she was in. His own, mangled thumb was proof enough of that – he still remembered the sickening crack, the sign that the thumbscrews had done their job. But he remembered something else too. As he screamed in anguish, shaking with the pain of his fractured thumb, Sanderson had whispered in his ear that sometimes... the man liked to keep using the device until the screws were almost touching. Until the bone was beyond broken. Until white, blood-streaked shards splayed in all directions, irreparable, irretrievable. Just… to hear the _screams._

As if something had snapped deep inside him, Ed felt himself lose all control. "_I don't know!_" he screamed, his voice cracking, breaking and tearing through into an octave he couldn't normally access. His maimed hand spasmed as he cut off blood and nerve alike by pulling so hard against the unyielding material, thrashing back and forth in a wild panic like a caged animal in a vain bid for freedom. "Idon'tknowIdon'tknowI_ – _don't – fucking_ –_ _knooow!!!_ I _swear _to you!! Hell, I swear to you on my mother's _grave_, I swear, I swear…" Tremoring as if caught in an arctic wind, the young alchemist suddenly slumped forward, the belts around his chest keeping him upright, but every muscle on his body abruptly sagging. It looked like a demon had momentarily possessed a broken puppet before leaving it to its grim fate once more. Not that Ed could have cared less what anyone thought right then. He was barely even aware they were there. "I-I… I…" _So helpless. _"I swear…" _So goddamn helpless… _"I swear, I swear, I swear…"

Unknown to their crumpled prisoner, Adams had frozen in horror at Ed's outburst, a sudden realization making him straighten. He'd assumed when Fullmetal had acted perfectly normal earlier in the infirmary that he'd just been having a bad moment in the cell, but now he realized it was the other way around. Fullmetal was the most dangerous kind of crazy – still aware of his eroding sanity, and still able to hide it. It really was as Janette had described it – he'd been pushed over the brink already. If it had been impossible to extract the necessary information after they retrieved the boy from his ordeal in the dark room, then it was unlikely that he would tell them anything more now, even if he did know it. Judging by the boy's struggles and his pleas, he still thought of himself as powerless to save his friend. If he had the information that would make them stop, he wouldn't be acting this way… would he? "David," the President muttered, too low for anyone else's ears. "Maybe he really doesn't know?"

"Don't worry, sir. I'll get an answer out of him one way or the other."

Winry was drawing in gasping breaths as she cried, the air whistling through her throat loud in the otherwise soundless cell. Ed's own tears fell down his down-turned face unnoticed as he tried to blot out the sounds of his best friend's agony. He'd have given anything to have that cursed, terrifying silence back now. This was why he'd always protected her. The sound of Winry crying was more painful than any torture.

At length, Ed heard Sanderson snap his fingers and the sound of boots shuffling along the floor towards Winry's chair quickly followed. Ed looked up dully, a question in his bleary gaze as the guards removed the silver device from Winry's thumbs, making her cry out one final time and hug her hands to her chest. The man himself came in close to grab her jaw and draw up her head so that their eyes met. Ignoring her instinctive jerk backwards, he pressed his mouth against her ear and whispered something. Even if he'd shouted it, Ed wasn't sure he'd have been able to hear it over the rush of adrenaline suddenly roaring through his head. He'd thought it was impossible to hate the man anymore, but with that gentle, lingering touch, Ed's rage had flown off the top of the charts.

Winry whimpered and looked away, shuddering as she moaned, "I-I can't do it!"

Sanderson seemed to grin as he whispered something into her ear again, making her eyes widen as yet more tears fell.

"E-Ed," she sobbed, looking down, away from both Ed and the evil man. "H-How could you let this happen?"

Ed's face fell as he stared at her, wishing she'd at least look at him while ripping his heart to shreds. _So she does blame me._ He didn't mind… he wasn't surprised. He'd let her down. He'd failed her. She had every right. He didn't blame her for hating him… not one bit. He couldn't. How could he? How could he possibly apologize for this, and how could he ever expect her to forgive him? "Winry, I-I…"

Sanderson looked up, and for once he wasn't smiling. His disbelieving expression of horror was completely unforced, seeming completely genuine to Ed's befuddled mind. "Ed, you'd let something like this happen to your girl and you won't even do anything about it?" For a moment, the man wasn't his captor. The man Ed knew as Sanderson was someone who smirked all the time, called him 'Fullmetal' and didn't give a shit about common courtesy. This guy's eyes were shining with unshed tears, he was calling him 'Ed', and he was truly disgusted with his terrible behavior. They couldn't be one and the same, right? "Seriously, what kind of man are you? Won't you do something? She's waiting for you!"

Ed looked down at the ground as he bit back a piteous sob. God, he was so pathetic! "Win, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry. _I'm sorry._" _As if even repeating it a million times could make any difference. _"You could never forgive me, Win, I know… but I can't…" He couldn't swallow the next gut-wrenching sob. "I-I-I can't do… a-anything!"

"It's a shame, really, how you'd let a girl like this get hurt," the stranger insisted, moving closer to Winry. At some point since he'd last looked at her, Winry had lifted her mangled hands to her face and was staring wide-eyed at him, her fingers clamped over her mouth. She looked like she was in pain, or maybe like something he'd said or done had horrified her. Had he hurt her again? Why was she looking at him like that? "I'd never let someone like her get hurt if she was _mine,_" the stranger's voice intruded again, but this time there was a familiar, cruel ring to it. Unfocused golden eyes rested on the hand that brushed across Winry's leg and finally settled on her knee. He blinked languidly, trying to work out why that sight made his insides roil, when Winry whimpered fearfully and he saw the man casually nibbling at her ear as his hand rubbed up and down her thigh. At the terror on his friend's face, something suddenly clicked back into place…

… and the rage roared back into life. "Don't you fucking _touch her!!_!"

David sighed, his breath warm and no doubt foul-smelling against the girl's shapely jawline. This wasn't going as planned. He had been hoping the kid would break down completely when he heard his little girlfriend say such horrible things to him, but once he'd touched her, Fullmetal had suddenly come back to life along with every little shred of his rather impressive anger. Glaring through tears, his teeth bared like a cornered wolf… he truly looked pissed. It was no wonder the kid had such a reputation as an aggressive rabble-rouser and Benoleans and Amestrians alike were scared of his name; Fullmetal was certainly appropriate, in more ways than one. The kid looked like he'd go for blood in a fight, especially with those burning golden eyes. They'd certainly seen their fair share of death and destruction – he himself had seen it first-hand in the town square in Central. It was a shame the almighty Fullmetal Alchemist was tied down to a chair and too weak even to hold up his own weight. It was like bear-baiting – all the more fun for knowing you were in no danger.

"Oh? And just what are you going to do about it, gimpy? Gonna scream at me until your voice goes? Gonna beg me not to? Don't tell me you're getting jealous," David sneered, slipped his hand further up the girl's thigh and roaming closer to the join between her clenched legs. The whole time, he operated by touch, his eyes never moving from his true victim across the way. "Girls don't like it when you're possessive, Fullmetal." He pressed a lingering, almost chaste kiss against Winry's throbbing pulse, smirking into her soft neck. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to _share?_"

Edward Elric saw red. For a long while all he knew was pain and fury as he thrashed against the bindings, wanting nothing more than to beat the ever living hell out of the bastard. He watched in horror as that clawing hand dipped between Winry's thighs and moved way too close, and he screamed his wordless ire. He knew from Winry's expression that he was growling like a wild beast, but he didn't care. All he could see was the blood spurting out of the broken nose he would give Sanderson, all he could hear was the man's pleas for forgiveness, all he could feel was his hands tightening deliciously around the motherfucker's scrawny throat. He would kill him. He would kill that demon and rip his corpse to pieces.

Only then could he ever look Winry in the eye again.

"I think you have gone far enough, Mr. Sanderson," a new voice intruded into his blissful killing frenzy. Startling free of the bloodlust's grip, Ed shot Sanderson one last glare and turned his head sharply to stare towards at the door. Standing next to Adams was that blonde woman from before, the one who had been present at all his interrogations. He'd gathered she had a rank almost equivalent to Adams, but he'd never once heard her name, surname or even her title. Everyone, including him, had just referred to her as 'Milady'. Her pale eyes regarded Ed for a moment before looking back at the man. "I said physical only. I will not have sexual assault in these interrogation rooms. Unless you want me to take over and get the job done, then you will stop this at once and continue with the interrogation. You've dragged it out long enough."

Sanderson sighed and straightened up with one last peck to Winry's cheek. She yelped and pulled away, folding herself over the opposite arm of the chair and bringing her knees up to her chest, then finally clasped her arms around them to form a defensive ball in which she buried her face and sobbed. The man only grinned at her reaction. "And I was having so much fun. Oh well. Milady, won't you please get this over with?"

She scoffed and stalked across the room to Winry, shoving Sanderson aside one-handed with surprising force. She looked back in Ed's direction and he felt his breath catch in his throat as her eyes sought out his with effortless grace and command. "So… it's Edward, is it?"

"Y-yes," Ed mumbled, beyond defiance after all his outbursts today. He knew he should be thankful to this woman from saving Winry from that bastard, but he doubted what was going to happen would be much better.

"I'm giving you one question and I want one answer, Edward. Where is Colonel Mustang?"

Ed bowed his head, his shoulders shaking. So she would give him one last chance? _Well then, fine._ One last shot. One last, pitiful shot, and if this one missed, everything would go to Hell. Wherever that might be. As far as he was concerned, it was right here, in this cell. "He's – " He coughed weakly as his lungs gave up on him for a second, but he choked the words out. _Last chance. Gotta make it count._ "H-he's in Resembool! My h-hometown… he's hiding out… hiding out with some refugees. At my old home. My… m-my home."

The woman stared at Ed for what seemed to be hours. He shifted under her fearsome glare, unable to look her in the eye. Whatever her job was in this godforsaken place, she certainly did it well. Eventually, she sighed and rested a hand on Winry's head. Normally, Ed would have picked up instantly on the tender way her fingers stroked down the soft locks, but in that situation it went straight over his head. "I am very sorry to both of you, but this is war and what must be done must be done. I wish it wasn't necessary to drag more young people into this affair… but then again," she added, her face twisting with disgust, "A country that accepts a twelve year-old into their ranks is beyond me."

Ed kept his head bowed, unable to retort. After all, he agreed, and always had. _But things were changing,_ he wanted to say, _We were trying to make things better. Me, Mustang, Armstrong and all the other state alchemists who were forced to do terrible things… we were trying to change this place! And now look what you bastards have done to it! _But not a single word rose to his tongue. He couldn't even lift his head. All he wanted was to sleep, knowing that somehow, against all the odds, he'd managed to keep everyone safe for a little while longer.

But it wasn't to be. At that moment, a deafeningly loud explosion was heard from outside the complex, shaking the very foundations of the building they were in. Ed's head snapped up as yells and screams were heard, and he found himself meeting Adams' blank, startled stare.

Shock was on everyone's faces as another guard ran into the room, panting as he snapped a quick salute. "Sir, alchemists are attacking the complex!"

Ed's eyes widened as he held the President's gaze, trying not to let his elation show on his face. It was difficult, knowing what he now knew. He had only ever known three alchemists who could cause explosions like that. Of those three, one of them had killed another, then later died himself in the creation of the Philosopher's Stone that had saved Ed's life. Only one was still alive, and even if they had all been living, only one of those three would be likely to break into a high-security prison complex to save him. _Roy Mustang. _

_Coming for to carry me home._

Eyes narrowing suspiciously at the battered alchemist's sudden wide-eyed innocence, Adams addressed the blonde woman, eyes frequently flicking back to Ed and his tired little grin. "Janette, get to a phone and contact East City. I want a troop to head out and search the village of Resembool for any refugee state alchemists, or anyone who knows the Elric brothers. Tell them to take hostages – the younger brother is sure to be with Mustang."

The blonde woman nodded and disappeared out of the room, dodging through the growing clamor outside and hurrying off. Adams scowled, rolled his eyes and finally spun to issue orders to the soldiers beginning to cluster outside, wrenching the door open to start giving quickfire commands. "Two of you, get these two into the cells now; we'll need everyone out there to hold them off. The rest of you, with me. Harman, what's the situation?"

"We didn't see anyone, the air just suddenly erupted in fire and there was gunfire everywhere, there was nothing we could do…"

Before Ed could even begin to make sense of exactly what was going on, he felt hands at his wrists, chest and ankles and he was suddenly free. Adams, Sanderson and most of the guards left the room while Ed was forced onto his feet, his captor careless of the fact that he could barely stand unaided. Swaying, he watched groggily as the second guard grabbed Winry roughly by the wrist and yanked her to her feet. She let out a little whine of fear, and Ed found his courage once more.

"Be careful with her!" he shouted, taking a threatening step in the startled guard's direction. The man obviously wasn't expecting the half-dead-looking prisoner to be a danger to him. "Her thumbs were nearly broken, you can't just – " Ed was cut off by an abrupt knee to the stomach. He dry-heaved as he staggered and would have collapsed if it weren't for the guard holding him up, forcing the bag over his head and dragging him into oblivion.


	7. Dont be mad

I'm not going to be posting for awhile, I caught this virus/parasite thing called cryptosporidium. And it makes you sick as hell, and not want to do anything. So basically I have this microscopic parasite burrowed in the walls of my small intestine. And I don't know about you guys but it sucks a lot. It takes about 2 or 3 weeks to get rid of, so I'm going to take a little break from everything, including my writing. I'll probably still write a little here and there but sorry for yet ANOTHER hiatus. Man, it's always something. Oh I have a writing schedule for those who haven't seen it here it is:

**Writing Schedule: **Ok, my beta and I talked (Kibetha is the best around) and we've come up with a schedule that will keep us less stressed out and you guys happy. Monday I'll have the next chapter for a story and send it to my beta. She'll spend all week editing it and on Sunday there will be a new chapter for a story. And during the time she is editing I'll be writing the next chapter for another story. But I can't pick favorites with my stories so every week its going to be a different story, like a cycle. What Now? one week, Forced the other week, and The Despised Ones another week. So you can expect an update every Sunday. It's just my beta and I are very busy (she's busier) Since she's in college and all, but I'm still a mere high schooler, but that does not mean I don't have other stuff to deal with. Oh and P.S. Reviews motivate me, so review, please. But I don't care, I'm stubborn so I can get no hits and STILL write the story! XD

This will be put back in action when I get over this, ok? So, sorry to whoever follows my stories and really likes 'em. *mutters* I'm trying like hell to hit the 200 reviews mark on at least one of my stories. But anyway! I'm posistive I can! Soo, thanks for taking 5 or 10 minutes out of your life to read this!


	8. Unexpected Allies

**Yes, it's back. Heh, been awhile hasn't it? I realized a week or so ago that this hadn't been updated for about over a month and nearly died.**

** But I promise I won't ever do that again, unless God or Fate or whatever really hates me and gives me Cryptopsoridium again. Now this...is really a long chapter. So I hope you can forgive us. I already have chapter 8, 9, and 10 done. But not edited. I REALLY owe Kib, cause I'm starting to reallllly suck at writing and she's the one that's been saving my ass all this time. XD**

**This is after all a partner fic so I can't take all credit, heck..not even _half_. Lol. **

**So, yeah... here's the chapter...**

* * *

Michael rested his head back against the hallway wall, tapping his foot against the leg of the chair he was slouched on as he gazed into the distance, trying to stave off boredom. This place was driving him nuts. Working in the prison cells was the worst job he had ever been forced into, and he'd tried a few. He'd rather have any of the other tasks he'd groaned and grumbled his way through, even dish duty… other than interrogation and torture, of course. That went without saying. Michael hated it here, the solitude, the constant buzzing of dim electric lighting and the oppressive feeling of misery in the air. He just wished he could go home, back to his father's farm and his pretty fiancée next door. He'd have given anything just to live a normal life again… but he'd been drafted into the army and had had to join the war with Amestris.

He didn't understand the reasoning for declaring war in the first place. It was a common topic of conversation between the Benolean soldiers, usually discussed in frightened whispers interspersed with fearful glances around the area for informers. There was always the odd fanatic who was willing to sell out his own comrades just to bask in his officer's praise for a minute or two. Generally, they were men who'd lost homes, friends and family in the war between Amestris and Drachma, glad to be able to pin all their hatred and revenge on one of the two great nations. What Michael couldn't understand was why Amestris? It had been a while ago, but as far as he knew, Amestris had been the only one of the two to engage in diplomatic relations with the tiny little Benole. So why exact all that retribution on the country that had tried for peace before reverting to force?

And what exactly was going on with the alchemists? If the President had just declared the State Alchemists outlaws, he would have understood – they were human killing machines, after all, using their gift for destruction and intimidation. But declaring alchemy a forbidden art? He didn't see what was so bad about it. As a matter of fact, Michael had read alchemy books and even attempted an array once on the barn floor when his father and mother were away on a trip. He had obviously got something wrong or just didn't have the gift – all he was left with when he finished were some rather curious cows and a mess of chalk on the ground for him to clear up.

If anyone ever found out about that he would probably be executed for treason, no matter how long ago it had been.

Sighing, he turned in his seat and stared at the empty cell, glad for the silence for once. It was never silent when _he_ was here – always the mumbling, the sobbing, the tapping and the singing. He wasn't sure when that damn kid had started to have a problem with the silence, but he didn't blame him – he hated it almost as much. It was only now, when that silence signified the absence of suffering, that he could finally appreciate it.

That damn kid was the worst part of his job. He'd felt nothing for him in the beginning – he was just another prisoner, like all the others he'd been set to guard – but then, when the torture started and the kid didn't plead, beg or break, just sat there and took it… a grudging admiration took root, despite all his attempts to quash the positive feeling towards his 'enemy'. At least once a day they would come for him then bring him back hours later bloodied, bruised and shaking, but still that determined glare never wavered. Then one day, he hadn't come back. Michael was sent to another post, and it was six days before they told him he was needed again. He returned to the high security complex to find a broken alchemist curled up in the corner, seeing things that weren't there and talking to people who couldn't hear him. Just hearing the poor kid screaming for _it _to stop would make Michael break orders and spin round to look despite himself… but nothing was ever wrong, except the fearless, unbeatable young man suddenly a mere child, trembling on the ground looking like a loon. After the first few times, Michael had spun round and shouted hoarsely at the kid, yelling, "There's nothing there, now shut the fuck up!" After that, the screams had stopped and he felt guilty for frightening the already terrified captive, but the young alchemist seemed incapable of remaining silent. With every heart-rending moan, Michael was left with the constant reminders of what his superiors – his _people_ – had done.

He didn't understand why he had to stay in this part of the building and guard the helpless prisoner – other than the kid, this place was empty, and there hadn't been a single attempt to escape since day one. His orders were never look at the prisoner, never to speak with him, and never to touch him, unless the young alchemist tried to escape and then he was to use a tranquilizer. But what was the point? The kid had nothing more in him to give. He spent more time in the infirmary than the cell now. The boy was on his last legs – and Michael was sure that he wouldn't use his last breath to betray his country.

There was a loud slamming noise as the door at the end of the hall opened and people hurried in. Michael shot off his chair and saluted, afraid of a higher up, but his hand only reached halfway up as he stared shocked at the people who entered.

"Don't just stand there, open the cell," a man snapped, and Michael's attention instantly switched to him as he straightened and hastily finished his salute. "There's been a break in and these two are not to leave, understand?" Even as he turned to the door, Michael's gaze kept slipping sideways to where the officer was gripping a slender, blonde young woman by the arms. She was young and pretty – she must have been in her late teens, but as her head hung low and her hair covered her face, he couldn't say for sure. Michael wondered if she was unconscious. The squeak of the deliberately unoiled hinges was like a signal for the officer to march the girl forward towards the cell door as it swung open, allowing Michael to catch a glimpse of the other guard for the first time. To his horror, the other man had that kid again, and he was startled to see the boy struggling for once, fighting despite the bag over his head and his missing arm. They were the struggles of a wild animal that had just escaped from a predator closing in for the kill. _What did they do to him this time?_

"Understood, sir," Michael replied belatedly as he sat back down, keeping his eyes lowered. The guard with the girl opened the cell and shoved her in roughly, not even blinking when she yelled out and slumped to the ground like a rag doll. Michael had to bite his tongue to not speak out and tell these guys to lighten up and be easier on them; they were little more than kids after all. All that stopped him was the knowledge that he'd just get a crack in the mouth if he ever tried telling them what to do, and the prisoners would probably get rougher treatment next time just to spite him.

When the two soldiers finally left, Michael risked a look into the cell. It was indeed the kid he had been guarding for a month – Fullmetal was his name, he thought, though surely that was some kind of codename. He was certainly the most active Michael had ever seen him since the six-day incident, whatever that had been, kneeling down beside the girl and trying to help her up. She was limp and trembling – it didn't look like she wanted to get up any time soon.

"Come on, Win," the boy was pleading, "I'm so sorry… this is all my fault!" His voice broke as he helped her sit up, heedless of the mangled-looking hand that he was using to support her back. Michael cringed. Obviously the splint had broken… _again._ "I am so sorry… I'm… Winry, I'm…"

Following the girl's eyeline down to her shaking hands, the young guard winced again. He could see the dark black and blue that they were, and the look on the boy's face and a sick twist in his own stomach told him that they had used her in a torture against the Fullmetal kid. It was a familiar tactic – many soldiers who wouldn't save themselves would do anything to save their comrades – but that didn't make it any less disgusting.

"I-is…" Michael began, finding himself leaning in. He cleared his throat nervously. "… Is she okay?"

The kid glared up at him, seething. It was a look that Michael hadn't seen since the first few weeks the kid had been brought in, and the hatred in those golden eyes made him take a step back. "Why the hell should _you_ care?! It's all of you bastards' fault in the first place!"

"Ed, it hurts," the girl, Winry, suddenly whimpered. Fullmetal's full attention instantly swung back to her, the loathing written all over his face dissipating in a split second. "Please… make it stop."

Michael shut his mouth and sat back down in the chair, facing away from them. He wanted to go get a nurse or something, maybe give her some sedative to help with the pain. He could offer to use the sedative in the tranquilizers he had, but if anyone found out he used it to help, he'd be in big trouble, especially since he eased the pain of a torture victim. Even the smallest amount of kindness from a guard could destroy the interrogation process, or so he'd always been told. Not that it had made much difference in the end.

He remembered just a few weeks ago how he had broken the rules to help the Fullmetal kid. He might not remember... but Michael would never forget.

_~*~_

_Michael was doodling on a scrap of paper as usual, playing paper games with himself, trying to ignore the kid's groans. It was god awful listening to the kid; by now, even if he didn't look, he could tell just from hearing today's noises where he would be. This particular, pained, lost-sounding moan meant that he would be lying in a fetal position in the middle of the floor, shivering, staring wide-eyed at something outside the bars of his cell. Today, it seemed to be the back of Michael's heels. He shifted his booted feet experimentally, but there was no response, and he began wondering if the kid even knew he was there._

_He shook his head and tried to take his mind off his task, putting paper and pen on his lap and leaning his head back on the wall behind him. In situations like this, there was only one thing he could think about that would successfully occupy all his thoughts. _Helen. _He pictured her face in his mind, a little smile on his lips. The last time he saw her, she was covered in mud from weeding her father's cabbage crop, smiling weakly as the tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. _I'll see you again soon, _she'd said desperately, holding him tight despite the dirt all over her. He hadn't minded. _You'll be back soon, won't you?

_What could he have said?_

_He sighed, shifting his leg over to keep it from going numb, forgetting the presence of the items on his lap. His pen dropped to the ground with a clatter and he reached down to grab it without thinking twice. He heard a gasp and a scuffling noise as his hand closed around the pen, and he jerked his head up to stare as a mangled, broken hand reached out for his._

_There was a clang on the bars and Michael jumped back, clutching the pen and fumbling for the tranq gun at his hip. The kid was kneeling up shakily next to the bars, the clanging sound assumedly originating from the automail hand wrapped around one of the bars for much-needed support, and he was staring fearfully up at Michael. The young guard had never seen such wide eyes. "Is… a-are you…?" Forming words seemed to be an effort at first, before he licked dry, cracking lips and tried again. "Are you really…?" The other hand suddenly snapped up and clutched at another bar, the splint on the kid's hand also causing a loud clank to resound around the empty cell. Michael flinched. "Please, you've gotta say something!" the kid shouted, trembling violently. "Oh God! You have to say something! Please! Say something, anything!"_

_Biting his bottom lip, Michael fiddled with the pen in his hands for a moment, torn between sitting back down and pretending nothing was happening… and responding. He wasn't allowed to talk to the prisoners. He was under direct orders not to even _look _at this particular kid. But tears had started streaming from those wide, wide eyes as he leaned his forehead up against the bars, his crazed stare never wavering. Reaching a decision, Michael stood up and grabbed the keys from his pocket, then hesitated. Staring at the door at the end of the short passageway for a few minutes, he began wondering what he'd do if he was caught. _The kid could have been… having a seizure, _Michael reasoned. _Yeah, that'll work. _He nodded to himself and moved to the door, fumbling with the obscene number of locks. This could be a trick but he didn't really think it was. The kid looked broken down, and he was certain that nobody could have acted the terrible moans he'd been hearing for days._

_Opening the door slowly to prevent any noise, the soldier eased into the small space and moved over to the kid, who had slumped against the bars, no doubt thinking himself alone again. His head was hanging, face hidden by his matted blonde hair, but Michael was certain there was no reaction as he walked across the cell towards him. Obviously, he'd need to announce his presence. "Hey, bud," he said brightly, trying not to sound as fearful as he felt. "Do you need anything?"_

_He watched the kid pull his head up and stare, dumb-founded, at the older man. He looked almost like he'd never seen another human being in his life, although Michael knew he'd been to the infirmary only days before. "Y-you're here?" he asked._

_Michael nodded, smiling. He reached down and lightly ruffled the kids hair, watching him cringe fearfully. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you. The name's Timlett, Michael Timlett. I'm the guy who sits outside all the time, so just chill… okay?" _

_The boy shuddered in response as he studied Michael with those strange, dimmed eyes. The soldier belatedly realized the kid must have been waiting for him to speak, and he chuckled gently, trying to make it a reassuring sound. The kid didn't want to be alone, obviously._

"_You know what? I've never seen gold eyes," Michael began to ramble good-naturedly. It was the first thing he thought of, but it brought a confused blink to the oddly-colored eyes in question. "I met an Amestrian girl with reddish-orange eyes once; they were real pretty. But never gold. Where'd you get your eyes from? Did you use that alchemy of yours to get 'em?"_

"_They're not… really _gold._"  
_

_Michael grinned, glad to hear that stubborn tone again, not the fear-filled voice that sounded like the kid was looking death right in the eyes. "Really? They look it to me. I s'pose they could be light brown. But… I still think they're gold. Don't worry though… it's good to be different. I mean, who wants to look just like everyone else, right?'_

_Fullmetal stayed laying against the bars, the multi-colored flesh over his ribs pressing against the hard metal without even a flinch of pain or a shift of position to get more comfortable. He just kept on staring at Michael, as if afraid he'd disappear if he so much as blinked. "Different can get you killed," he breathed eventually, and Michael was startled at how sane the kid sounded. It had been a long time since he'd heard words that made any real sense from those lips. Was this really all from just talking to him? No wonder he'd been ordered not to even look at the kid, if the tiny kindness he'd extended could make this much of a difference. "You try to be different or act your own way… people won't like you for it. They might even try to destroy it. I've seen it… just look at what's happening to my country…" He laughed bitterly, and Michael was taken aback by the bitter cynicism in that laugh. "Just look at what's happening to me."_

_That hadn't been a child's laugh. For the first time, Michael wondered how old the alchemist was. He didn't look much older than sixteen, and certainly couldn't have been older than twenty, but… the owner of that laugh had seen… too much. "It'll be alright – " he started to say, but he was interrupted before he could even try and think of a believable reassurance._

"_No. Look at me." The boy began laughing again as he sat up, grinning manically at Michael. "Look at me… I'm losing it! Hearing things that aren't there, seeing things that should be left in my imagination… Heh, I can't even think in a straight line anymore unless there's someone _here_. Tell me, whoever you are… do I look as crazy as I feel?"_

_Michael sighed and leaned against the cell bars, face softening with sympathy. _He's not crazy, then. Crazy people don't know they are. Or, at least, that's what they always say._ "We're all crazy, kid. Just look at the President, he's barki–_ _"_ _He froze, eyes widening as he shot a terrified glance outside the cell. They were still alone. Nobody had heard that… treason. "Don't tell anyone I said that," he whispered, suddenly afraid. "I'd be shot."_

_The kid didn't even seem to have noticed his guard's slip, but he had obviously been listening to the last part. Eyes sliding out of focus once more, those hazy yellow irises both managed to line up for long enough to pick out the firearm at his belt, and fix on it in a chilly stare. Michael blinked, then put a hand on it protectively in case he got any ideas. Perhaps the kid wasn't as far gone as he'd thought, if he was contemplating escape with an enemy's weapon. But it seemed that wasn't the case._

"_Could you?" Fullmetal asked softly._

_He blinked, nonplussed. "Could I… what?"_

"_Put a bullet in my head right now. Just tell them… tell them I snagged your gun when you weren't looking. They won't care. Just end it."_

_Michael felt a wave of sorrow at the way that small form sagged against the bars in resignation. The young, determined alchemist he had known was gone already. He really had given up. Recalling his request, the Benolean soldier considered it briefly – after all, it wasn't really murder when the person asked for it, was it? But Michael already knew the answer. He didn't want to kill anyone, even if that person wanted it. He couldn't bear taking someone's life from them._

"_Sorry, kid. I can't do that. But…" He hesitated, then damned himself. He couldn't take this anymore. If he had to make a choice between loyalty and morality, it was only a matter of time before he made the decision he had wanted to from the start. He might never make it back to Helen, but he knew she would rather that than he let this go on any longer. After all... they'd always wanted children. "Kid, I swear… you'll get out of here sometime soon. I promise."_

_~*~_

Buried once again in the half-dark of the familiar cell, a certain golden-eyed alchemist cradled Winry's hands in his, infinitely gentle, as if they'd fall to pieces if he squeezed them too hard. He was finding it hard to breathe at the sight of the damage to those beloved hands, as if a little more oxygen was sucked out of the air with each one of her sobs. The thumbs were swollen and black, looking almost like she had just been blackberry picking in the woods behind her house in Resembool… but even considerably less sane than he had been before this all began, he couldn't convince himself that was the case. It made him sick to think of how much it must hurt. He pulled her into a clumsy, one-armed hug to try to stop her crying, but it just seemed to make it worse. She buried her face against his chest and simply wept.

"Win, I'm so sorry," he pleaded, on the verge of hysterical tears himself. He just couldn't take this. Not now. Not after everything. "Please don't cry, Win... please..."

He had to get her quiet. He knew from past experience that if her crying pissed the guard off, he'd come in and do something about it. Most of the swellings and bruising around the back of Ed's head had been gained that way. He'd never let it happen to her, of course, but... he had to admit, even for Winry, he wouldn't be able to fight very well. Stealing a quick glance at the guard over Winry's head, he frowned and blinked. He looked familiar. That same dark auburn hair, an unusual color for a Benolean, and those soft blue eyes that never quite seemed able to meet his gaze. He blinked again in realisation. It had been that same guard this whole time? He remembered him – the one who talked to him whenever they were alone and nobody else could hear. Still… compassionate or no, it didn't matter. He was the enemy… and that was that. Ed could feel his head clearing up, the ever-present throbbing leaving with each new surge of adrenaline until he was beginning to be able to think straight. Maybe he wasn't insane after all. … That was a relief.

The exhausted alchemist leant his cheek against the soft head pressed into his chest as he felt his shirt growing wet. It always seemed to get wet with something. Mud, tears, sweat… mostly blood. His eyelids felt so heavy. All he wanted to do was sink into the restless sleep that was waiting to engulf his troubled thoughts, but Winry was hurt. He couldn't just leave her.

Suddenly, Ed heard the screech of unoiled hinges and he jumped, looking up as he tightened his grip on Winry protectively. He almost didn't notice the door opening for a while – he was used to it bursting open and slamming against the opposite wall, not this tentative, inching _creep_. Suspicious gold eyes glared up as and found themselves staring at the familiar guard as he stepped into the cell, that kindly face in shadow as it gazed down at the pair of them. He struggled to his feet, pushing Winry behind him as he put himself in between her and the guard. He'd had enough of watching Winry get hurt for one lifetime. "What the hell do you want?" Ed spat.

The guard smiled weakly back in the face of his fury, and Ed blinked in recognition despite himself. _I think I know his name… _he thought. _What was it… M… Matthew? No… _"I promised that you'd leave sometime, didn't I?" the man murmured, interrupting Ed's thoughts sharply. "We'd better leave now while everyone is busy with the intruders. Maybe they're even some of your mates."

Ed stared at him, gaping. He'd been prepared for a lot of things to come out of the man's mouth, but that hadn't been one of them. "What the hell is this?" he hissed, crouching into a defensive stance, ready to react in a fraction of a second to any threat. For _surely_, there must be a threat in there somewhere. It couldn't just be what it seemed, could it? "Do you really think I'd fall for that? What do you want?!"

"Come on, kid," the guard replied after a slight hesitation. "We don't have a lot of time. And… and I want to leave too. I can't take another day of this place, so I'm leaving while everything's heated up." He waited expectantly, but the boy only eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the trick. Glancing fearfully over his shoulder, the man continued in a low voice, running a hand through his short, spiky hair in a show of obvious agitation. "I'm gonna take you with me, or I'll never be able to live with myself, okay?! So let's go!"

Never dropping his hostile stance, Ed swallowed and looked behind him at Winry. She was kneeling behind him, one hand on his leg as if for support as her wide, shining eyes gazed up at the intruder. "It's okay, Win," Ed whispered, a fresh wave of guilt rolling over him at her expression. "I won't let anything happen to you." _That's why I have to get you out before they find out I lied to protect you… regardless of the consequences, for him… or for me._ He looked back over to the guard, a new, appraising light in his eyes. "I still don't trust you," he growled. "If you pull any funny shit, or even lay a hand on Winry… I'll kill you myself, got it?"

The guard smiled, throwing Ed for a loop. Had he been out of human contact for so long that he'd forgotten how people reacted, or was this guy just genuinely unpredictable? "That's the Fullmetal I remember the first day he got here," the man chuckled. "I kinda missed him."

Ed frowned. _Matt, Mitchell, Malcolm…_ He shook his head, trying to clear it. Now wasn't the time. But… _shit_, he was tired. "Shut up," he muttered weakly. "Do you even have a plan?" He knew this was a long shot, but he was just about willing to take any chances possible that could mean getting Winry the hell out of this place. Even getting out of this prison block got him a little closer to Mustang and his fantasy chariots. But for that… he needed this guy's help. All he had to do was keep an eye on this bastard until they were home. _Coming for to carry me home. Oh please. Just this once, please let it be the fairytale ending._

"Not really," the guard grinned, gesturing after him as he turned away out of the open door. "We'll make it up as we go. Come on. Let's get you out of here."

~*~

_Snap._

Another loud explosion rocked the complex, and the Benolean soldiers turned tails and fled. Flames engulfed half the fort, lapping hungrily at prison walls and dark red coats alike. Mustang walked ahead of the others with a dark, vengeful smirk, trusting his companions to watch his back as he forced the enemy to back away from his ceaseless onslaught of blazing snaps. His middle finger and thumb were raw and bleeding from the friction of his new gloves, but the black ecstasy of watching this hated enemy beating a hasty retreat from his alchemy was too great for him to notice the pain. Just behind him, Al was taking out any soldiers or buildings he missed with a sharp, head-turning clap, followed by a rolling wave of earth that would put a tsunami to shame. In the gaps between the thunderous rumble of the earth moving and the booming explosions, Mustang could hear Al whispering his brother's name over and over again, an endless litany that allowed him to commit the atrocities that even seasoned battle experts feared. There was no ordinary squadron that could stand against their combined might.

Together, they were unstoppable.

It wasn't long, though, before Mustang suddenly became aware of a new, discomforting sensation in the air. It was almost as if there was a solid wall of particles that couldn't be manipulated, a barrier where his flames fizzled out and Alphonse's liquid rock returned abruptly to its original state. The alchemists glanced at each other, sharing a concerned look. They both remembered this feeling before from the Benolean attack on Central. "Cover for me!" Roy shouted, running forward. _If this is the same thing as back then…_ Looking down, he saw it: the large array surrounding the camp, more complex than any he had ever seen. For a long moment, he simply stared, letting his eyes drink in the symbols with a scientist's addictive curiosity. _Who dreamt this up?!_ However, one thing was for certain. The hypocritical bastards were using alchemy against them.

Al ran up behind him. "Colonel! What – "

A gasp of understanding escaped Al as Mustang dropped to his knees beside the deeply engraved array, stunned. So this was the only thing keeping the alchemists imprisoned in there? An array that blocked alchemy… the very idea made him shiver. The carved design had to be at least six feet deep, perfect geometric angles and lines stretching down into the darkness. They must have wanted to make sure no outsider was going destroy it easily. The Colonel looked up at his fellow alchemist, grinning nastily. _They'll never underestimate an Elric again. _"Alphonse?"

Al stepped forward, understanding instantly. "Got it," he said as he pressed his palms together and slammed them into the ground. At first, nothing happened, but then shudder and the ground broke apart in front of them, just on the outside of the circle. Smiling in understanding, Mustang watched as the crack widened. Alchemy couldn't directly affect the particles making up the array, but if enough pressure was put on the rock on either side, it would crumble of its own accord. The chasm widened and suddenly, the outer wall of the array fell in on itself, effectively smudging this part of the array. It didn't look like much compared to the enormous transmutation circle, but they both knew that no matter how small the damage to an array was, it would always be enough to render it ineffective.

Jumping over the rocks with a shared laugh of triumph, the group continued to make their devastating way towards the camp. Several guards were running away, while the brave, _stupid_ ones stayed behind, tremulously aiming their rifles at the rebel alchemists. A snap from Mustang sufficed to scatter their hasty attack, fire exploding into the buildings over the guards' heads. Stone tumbled down towards them, and several of the men broke screaming from the group and ran. The air felt stiff with heat as Mustang smirked, feeling comfortable in his element after so long in hiding. He could see people in dark prison clothing milling towards the center of all the destruction, their faces filled with renewed hope. This was working all too well for them; they'd been expecting one of the hardest missions of their lives, but this was child's play. They'd have Ed out in no time, along with all these prisoners.

"Everyone, head that way!" Mustang yelled at the scattered people, pointing towards the broken walls. People were fleeing, helpless to their guard's bullets, and the screams were torture to his ears.

More shots rung out through the air and Mustang quickly scoured the area for soldiers, his fingers raised to snap. "Where are they?" he yelled over his shoulder. "I'll take them out!"

"Leave it to me!" Al was practically glowing with confidence as he clapped his hands and a pillar erupted out of the ground and slammed into several snipers, knocking them off their towers. Mustang saw a grin on Al's face that he hadn't seen in months. He must really be enjoying using alchemy after so long. Especially when it was all in the name of saving his brother.

~*~

_Damn it all._ They'd been running for all of two minutes, and he was already about ready to collapse. Ed stumbled to a halt, painfully aware that his breathing was too shallow and far too fast. Every little injury he'd thought had healed over the past two months was suddenly screaming again at the physical exertion and the pain was enough to make him _want _to pass out. He didn't even want to think about the throbbing bullet wound in his leg – he'd thought that was just healing scar tissue now, but the warm trickle down his ankle told him otherwise. Losing blood with his consciousness already this shaky wasn't one of his best plans to date.

"Wait!" he gasped out, watching as Winry and the guard turned to face him, seemingly surprised that he wasn't still beside them. _Ha, so they haven't noticed I'm ready to drop. Brilliant. I can do this._ "My arm," he continued, pausing briefly to haggle with his lungs over the price in oxygen of just those few words. "I can't leave… without it."

"Your automail?" the guard queried, frowning.

Ed nodded wearily.

"I'm not sure where they put it, kid. As far as I know they could have had it thrown out – "

"The infirmary," Winry interrupted, reaching for Ed's hand. He hesitated, then loosely wrapped his mangled fingers around hers. It was just more torture, and if it would help her feel better, he could put up with the pain. "They had me remove it when you first had symptoms of automail rejection. It should still be in the closet in the – "

"We don't have time for this!" the guard cut her off, moving sharply towards them. He stopped at Ed's heated glare, but met his gaze steadfastly nonetheless. "What's important is getting you out of here alive. Just forget it, at least you have your leg!"

"S'not that!" Ed slurred out, and again tried to get his breathing under control. "We'll get out alive… if I can use… my alchemy… to protect us," he said between breaths. "Someone took out the array… but I'll be… utterly useless… without my arm!" He coughed weakly, a hacking cough that made a pang stab into his ribs and his mouth suddenly taste metallic. "I need two to… to do alchemy. What if… f'we're caught?!"

"Well you're just going to have to trust me on this now, aren't you?!" the guy snapped, eyes flitting to the doorways after every few words.

The blonde alchemist found himself bearing his teeth in a feral snarl. The man just didn't understand. He refused to be helpless anymore. Never, ever again. "No!" he yelled. "You're gonna have to… trust _me_!"

"Will you two stop shouting?!" Winry screamed over whatever reply the guard made, more tears falling as she buried her face into the shoulder of Ed's shirt. Both of them stopped, startled out of their rage as they stared at her. "They're going to catch us! We can't get caught… we just can't! If they find out that Mustang isn't in Resembool, who knows what they'll do to us! Ed's right, let's just go get the arm!"

Staring the guard down, Ed frowned. His breath should have been coming easier by now, but every labored gasp was even more painful. _They really bust up my ribs, didn't they?_ "It's either you stay with us… or go on your own." _I thought it hurt more than usual when that guy hit me on the way back… he must have really hit the target. _"We'll be at more of… more of an advantage… if I can use alchemy." _I want to be able to defend myself next time._ "I think… I think someone broke the… array that blocks it." _I never want to go back there._

Sighing, the man – his name was still just on the tip of Ed's tongue – took his crimson hat off and dropped it to the ground in a gesture of defeat. "Fine, let's go to the infirmary," he said reluctantly.

Grinning wearily in triumph, Ed turned sharply to head back the way they'd come, towards his vague memories of the infirmary. His head had started to spin violently, but after getting his way, it'd be stupid to turn down the opportunity now. He didn't make it to the end of the corridor. The world took a sudden tilt to the side and the next thing he knew, Winry was standing over him, yelling his name. _Funny, _he thought faintly, blinking the sweat from his eyes. _When did she learn to stand sideways?_

"Edward Elric," Winry was saying desperately as she knelt down. "Look at me, damn you!" She reached out and shook his automail shoulder until his eyes slid sideways to her face.

"That hurts, dammit," he muttered breathlessly, rolling onto his front and scrabbling to all fours… well, threes.

"Ed, are you okay?"

_Damn, why does she always have to cry?_ "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, flashing a tired half-grin up at her. Her suspicious, doubtful expression told the whole story. "… Well okay, not fine… obviously… but I'll manage." He tried to stagger to his feet, failed miserably, and slumped against the wall, his legs shaking. There was just no way he could move right then. The entire Benolean army could have been marching down the passageway towards them, and he wouldn't have been able to get up.

"Shit, we can't stop here!" In the corner of his eye, he could see the guard striding towards him, his hands clenching and unclenching in nervous fists by his sides. Ed had an abrupt recollection of seeing one of those hands reaching for a pen just in front of his nose not so long ago. _When was that?_ "Come on, kid, please…" the guy pleaded, but Ed only shook his head.

"Can't," he said simply.

"Crap, we can't be found here." The man paced back and forth in front of him – another thing Ed remembered him doing. _He must have been there all the time, _he realised suddenly. Now wasn't the time for such thoughts, but he'd be damned if he could force his mind to stay on the subject right then. He was only just managing not to puke. It wasn't like there was anything in his stomach to throw up anyway. _He must have seen me in my worst moments – that's probably why I barely remember him. I wasn't… in my right mind._

"I'm not leaving him!"

_Oh be honest with yourself, Fullmetal. You were crazy. You still are crazy. You're talking to yourself – that's what crazies do._

"I know, neither am I! You think I'm doing this for you? I've had to sit and listen to them torture him for months!"

_Oh hell, don't say Fullmetal. That's what they call me._

"I know! I know, I… I saw it!"

_I suppose even being called 'kid' is better than that._

"Then stop whining and think for a minute – I won't let them take him back there!"

_And he always calls me that. Him… _"Michael…" he breathed as his memory finally supplied the name he'd been looking for. "Michael… Timlett."

There was a long pause, and then the guy's usually cheerful face suddenly appeared in front of his own. Ed blinked dazedly, realising that he must have squatted down to be at his level. "Hey… you remembered my name," Michael grinned, his bright blue eyes sparkling.

It was hard to form a reply. Damn, the familiar darkness of unconsciousness was pretty close. "I never… forget… a face," he whispered, frowning. There was something he was supposed to remember. What was it? Something about… Winry…? Ed's hazy gold eyes roamed up to her and saw the fear written all over her face. Realisation hit him like a kick in the teeth.

"I'm still flattered. You were pretty out of it, after all – "

Michael trailed off as Ed suddenly lurched forwards, using his one elbow on the wall to try and lever himself upright. His breathing hitched and sweat dripped from his brow, but he managed to put two feet under him and straighten his knees significantly. But it wasn't enough. "Michael…" he breathed, words barely audible. "I need you… to get Winry… out of here. I'm only gonna… slow you down."

"There's no way I'm leaving you here, Fullmetal."

He flinched, a thousand memories of Sanderson's scathing voice saying that cursed name overwhelming him. "It's Ed," he insisted, shaking his head resolutely. The movement made the world start spinning merrily to itself in front of him. _Shit._ "Edward Elric. I'll get out… somehow. Promise." He shot them both a cheerful grin through the haze in front of his eyes, wishing his weakness was as easily disguised as his expression.

Without dignifying his lies with a reply, Michael stepped forward to stand in front of his quavering form, turned his back and knelt down on one knee. "Get on," he said. The scowl he shot over his shoulder, stubborn and determined, looked like something that belonged on Ed's own face. "I'll carry you."

"Fuck that!" Ed spat indignantly, "I can carry _myself_ out of - !"

He interrupted himself with a wheezing cough and, quickly raising his hand to his mouth, Ed spat spots of blood onto his palm. He wasn't fast enough. At his side in seconds, Winry grabbed his wrist and pulled it towards her, making him flinch at the pull on his broken bones. She stared at the dark blood with horror.

Looking guiltily away from her face, he found himself meeting Michael's dark stare. "Get on," the man repeated firmly.

Feeling oddly humbled, Ed complied. It might be the most humiliating thing he'd ever done, but the faster he co-operated, the quicker Winry would be out of this hell hole. And in the end, that was always the goal.

It seemed they lucked out as they reached the infirmary building without being spotted. Ed clung awkwardly to Michael's shoulders, his one arm wrapped around the bigger man's neck. He'd thought that being carried would be painful, or at least undignified, but Michael was incredibly careful with him and supported his weight without complaint, barely even flinching when Ed panicked at yet another loud blast and dug his metal knee into the guard's hip. The alchemist had been watching for guards the entire time, having to hiss whispered warnings in Michael's ear a couple of times, but they had yet to be seen. Ed wasn't surprised; after all, who could see through this thick smoke in the first place?

His weight pitched to one side for a minute as his transport let go of one of his legs to push a door open before proceeding cautiously inside. Another explosion made them all jump, followed by even more screams. All three pairs of eyes turned to the nearest window, but there was nothing to be seen through the smoke. Whoever had broken into the camp was doing a very good job at it. Ed licked his lips, swallowing another mouthful of crimson-tainted bile. He could barely even dare to hope. Could it really be Mustang?

"You okay to walk now, Ed?" Michael asked softly, glancing over his shoulder at him. He frowned. "What's wrong?"

Blinking away tears, Ed shook his head and smiled. "Sorry, the smoke's just getting to me. … You can put me down now," he grumbled, slipping from the man's loosening hold on his legs. His knees almost buckled, but, leaning heavily on Michael, he managed to remain standing.

"So appreciative."

"Yeah, yeah, you're my hero," he muttered in wry response, shooting him a weary grin as they hobbled together into the infirmary ward. A few patients still lay in their beds, some unconscious, others curled up in fear. Eyes drawn helplessly to their defenseless forms, Ed swallowed down his regret and self-loathing. It was hard to remember that he couldn't afford to save every tortured soul he came across. Right now, Winry was his priority. And for that, he needed the automail she'd made him. He was already feeling a lot better, but he would only feel truly safe when he had his automail back where it belonged. "Alright, Win. Where is it?"

"It should be in here," she replied as she hurried across the room, the other two hot on her heels. She led them to a large cabinet bolted to the wall, almost overflowing with tools and bandages. Ed leant against the wall and watched as the other two began to trawl through its contents, half of it spilling onto the floor in their desperate search.

"What did you do, Winry, _bury _it?!" he smirked.

She shot him a dirty look over her shoulder. "I hid it! They wanted me to throw it away but I… just couldn't!" Ed's slight smile matured into a fully-fledged grin as Winry burst into one of her classic machine junkie rants. He hadn't thought he'd ever be so glad to hear one. "You don't understand the workmanship of that thing, Ed. Honestly, you take it for granted, but I stayed up all night working so the balance would be just right and the weight would be equally distributed while still being the height of craftsmanship and sculptural design, and _all_ you can say is – "

"Hey, is this it?!" Michael interrupted, pulling on a metal finger. As he tugged on it, the whole arm was dragged out, pulling everything else in the cabinet down with it. With a loud crash, several boxes on the top shelf made a break for freedom, nearly hitting Michael as he side stepped, holding the arm out of harm's way above his head. His face was a picture of discomfort – it was obviously pretty disturbing in his opinion, to be holding an arm.

Eyes lighting up, Ed snatched the arm from him and instantly positioned the peg at the automail port, screwing his face up in readiness for the pain.

"Wait, Ed! That could cause infection!" Winry shouted. "I should clean the port and – "

"Screw it!" he growled, and drove the arm into his shoulder. He was left feeling oddly disappointed. His memories of the pain of reattaching automail had nothing on the more recent recollections of the induction of an electric current straight into the nerves in the open port. In comparison, he barely even cringed as all the nerves in his shoulder screamed. There was some grim satisfaction in the thought that the pain of automail would never really burden him again, not that that was any consolation for what he'd had to go through. He'd much rather endure automail surgery again than two months of torture. At least, when each individual nerve was being cut and fused to a metal counterpart, there had been people with him the whole time who cared for him and reassured him. And the _smiles_. They weren't sick, morbid ones. They were loving smiles, and he would do anything to get back to them, where he belonged.

"Alright, Ed?" asked Michael, oblivious to the amount of pain the young alchemist should have been in. Both of them were ignoring Winry's shocked, horrified expression, after all. "Then let's get out of here!" He grabbed his new charge's flesh arm and hoisted him onto his back again, barely even pausing to let Ed get settled before he was sprinting out of the infirmary.

Smiling, Ed clenched his metal fist. Finally, it was time. Getting payback was going to be _fun_.


	9. Save me from this EDITED

**Ok, ok, Kib is officially back. And here's the replacement to that hellish chapter I attempted and posted. Actually I wrote that chapter months ago and it fkn sucked, but what ev. Here's my atonement for forcing that garbage onto you**

* * *

"He's gone!!!" Captain Arthur Herald yelled, raking one hand through his hair. He was shifting from foot to foot and fidgeting with the keys, Janette saw almost subconsciously as she stared into the empty cell. There was no doubt he was nervous. Perhaps he was hoping she hadn't _noticed_ it, but such a detail would have been obvious even to a blind person. Fullmetal was gone, as was the girl he'd been protecting, but that wasn't all – the guard was gone too, with no sign of a struggle. The escapees couldn't have abducted or killed the guard unless he'd entered the cell, which was of course against all regulations, and the lock had not been forced. There was only one simple answer and Herald, as captain in charge of the military prisons, knew it just as well as she did. _Treason._

"I want the President's assassination squad assembled _now," _she spat, showing the Captain her anger for the first time. He flinched visibly. "He is _not _escaping at a vital time like this, not at the hands of one of our own men."

"T-the assassination squad?! But I thought we needed him alive?"

She rolled her eyes. The man certainly wasn't chosen for his brains. "Of _course _we do," she said again with exaggerated patience. "But they're the only ones skilled enough to capture a state alchemist _alive. _Now, move out!"

"Yes ma'am!"

~*~

They ran. Well, Michael had to support Ed with his shoulder since he refused to be carried anymore, but it was the best attempt at running they could do, given the circumstances. The stubborn alchemist was relying heavily on his metal leg as the other kept giving out on him, limping onwards with a valiant attempt at a poker face fixed on his expression as he shot the occasional shifty glance at the concerned Winry. The boy rose even further in Michael's esteem. Even in such dire circumstances, he was still trying not to worry her. _She really must be special to him, _he grinned to himself.

"Oi, grinning idiot up there," Ed choked out suddenly. The young guard glanced down in concern, his eyes lingering on the dried blood at the corner of the boy's weakly smiling lips. It certainly gave away his strong act. He knew Ed had almost lost consciousness several times already from his startled jerks back to the waking world. "Are we even going the right way?!"

"Of course we are! Here, here's the exit. There's a center courtyard through here, then you can go through the front gates." He half-dragged Ed out into the sunlight, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the blinding whiteness of the limestone paving and the small white fountain in the centre. There had once been four trees at the edges of the courtyard, but only three stood now; the fourth was a scorched skeleton, huddling away from the fierce battle that was taking place nearby. That same fighting quickly caught Michael's attention and he pointed towards the courtyard with a satisfied laugh. "Look, other people are already escaping!"

Ed looked up from Michael's shoulder with eyes narrowed against the bright light, the effects of three months in a dark cell now taking their toll. Ed could see many other alchemists escaping, a couple of whom he even recognised. On the other side of the courtyard, next to the gates, the Lightning Alchemist was screaming her trademark battle cry as she activated the atmospheric array tattooed on her palms. He knew from a fascinating conversation a few years back that the array's purpose was to gather the static in the area into a single, devastating shock of electricity that she shot from her hands. It certainly seemed to be working, especially in combination with a simple condensation array that another alchemist had sketched on the floor and was now using to drench the Benolean soldiers before Lightning got round to them. In that moment, even Ed could see why the Benoleans feared alchemy so much.

Another scream distracted him, and he turned his dazed stare on the remaining soldiers who weren't distracted with repressing the attacking alchemists. Some of the fugitives had stayed behind to get payback on their Benolean captors, many of them members of the Amestrian military. Blurry gold eyes passed over high-ranking officers, loyal aides, and… was that Deputy Fuhrer Hakuro, clutching a seized rifle with a powder-stained face?! _He doesn't look like he's been on the verge of death from a regime of interrogation and torture, _Ed noted bitterly, his eyes already moving onwards in disinterest. He blinked as a band of soldiers sprinted past, chasing a gaggle of several terrified kids. A stumbling, white-faced little girl was the one whose scream had made him look round in the first place, only a few feet outside the reach of the grabbing hands of the lead guard. It looked like she needed help.

Grinning, the People's Alchemist let go of Michael and flexed his automail fingers in anticipation. _Oh _how he had missed alchemy.

Slamming his hands together with an echoing _clap_, he smashed them into the ground and _focused._ The energy from his hands bolted toward the soldiers and accumulated. A second later, there was a rumble under their feet and a wall of limestone twenty feet wide jutted out of the ground in front of the men, crackling with the blue light of alchemy. One of the men couldn't stop in time and ran into it with a startled cry, sending his gun out of his hands as he fell back, while the others stumbled to keep from colliding with the wall. Some even tripped on their fallen friend, arms windmilling just to keep their balance. The children fled without looking back, completely forgotten by the panicked soldiers.

"Wow," Michael muttered. He hadn't seen alchemy like _that _before. He had seen freelancers do simple things with chalk circles and broken vases, and he'd even seen alchemists transmuting gold to fund a war against alchemy – yet another secret that the Benolean government would rather keep a secret. But all those petty little tricks were nothing compared to the raw power reflected in the crackling blue electricity that had sparked from Ed's hands. A State Alchemist's power was just awe-inspiring to behold. "Ed… that's amazing."

"It's nothing," the young man gasped, taking the toll of his impressive feat and staggering to his feet. His energy was depleting, and fast. Noticing Ed's exhaustion, Michael moved in close and clasped his arm, wrapping one strong arm securely around the small waist.

"Come on, let's get going," he said, once again taking control of the situation. Ed's eyelids were flickering, the grimace of fear and determination fading in and out on his face as he struggled against falling asleep there and then. They needed to get out fast, before the exhausted alchemist passed out completely. "Winry, keep close behind us," he ordered, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the increasingly quiet girl. She had barely said a word since they left the infirmary. Michael was worried she was going into shock. "Don't stop for anything, alright?"

Winry only nodded as she stepped behind Michael, latching a hand on his free sleeve as if frightened of getting lost. Their strange, hobbling trio moved down the stairs as quickly as they could and weaved their way through the fighting masses, hoping and _praying _that no one would attack them. There were a few close calls – at one point, Michael dragged Ed to a halt just in time for him to watch a bullet pass an inch in front of his nose – but everything seemed to be going well until they reached the fountain in the center of the courtyard. They had just begun to navigate around it when a gun went off directly behind them and Ed heard Michael yell out and fall to his knees, releasing the alchemist from his supportive hold. Ed stumbled, turning startled eyes on Michael's grimacing face. "W-what?"

"Dammit!" the guard hissed, his grey-blue eyes hazy with the pain. "They got my leg! Ed, you've gotta – "

"Fullmetal."

The words froze on Michael's lips. Swallowing hoarsely, Ed looked behind them and _stared_. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it certainly couldn't have been much worse. _No… no, nonono! _It was her! The woman who had called the shots of all his interrogations… standing in a dark corner, sitting directly behind him, waiting outside the door with an ear open for his screams. And the usually blank, emotionless face that had haunted his nightmares was… outraged.

"Private Timlett!" she yelled, making Michael flinch behind him. "You have committed treason, unless there's another reason you are leading a _State Alchemist _from the prison cells!"

Soldiers seemed to surround them, making Ed jump to his feet, mumbling curses under his breath. _It was going so well. I should have known – nothing ever goes well for Edward Elric._ All guns were on them, making him back up into Winry and Michael, holding his arms out defensively in front of them. A fresh rush of fear-induced adrenaline quelled Ed's shaking hands and grounded his thoughts in reality once more, staving off the darkness for just a little longer. He wasn't letting either of his friends get taken by these bastards.

"I want them alive! If so much as one bullet grazes a body you will _all _be court-martialled," Janette ordered, seeming to collect herself back to her usual icy calm.

Ed suddenly grinned at her. "_No _guns?" he shot, "Now this is going to be easier than I thought!" He even thought he could see a few of the soldiers' hands trembling – _in fear. _This only made Ed grin more. _Finally _time to strike fear into their hearts, just like they had to his country!

Clapping his hands together with one slow, deliberate movement, the alchemist calmly watched as three soldiers bolted towards him, the blue electricity sparking into life around his hands. He just had time to touch his arm before he was ducking as the first soldier attacked with the butt of his gun. He had to admit, they were _fast._ Ed cringed as he felt the weapon just scrape the top of his head, but he quickly slammed his new blade up and into the man's stomach . Blood splashed out of his mouth and down, soaking the top of Ed's hair as the corpse slumped bonelessly towards his killer. He pushed the body away with disgust. Years ago, this would have freaked him out, but now… it was just war. These bastards _deserved _what they got.

Holding up his blood-stained arm-blade up threateningly, he shouted, "Is that all you got?!"

The other two soldiers backed away, eyes wide at the sight of their fallen comrade as they re-assessed the exhausted fugitive before them. Ed felt no pity. Not anymore. How could he, after all they took from him?! Had they shown him pity when he was writhing on the floor of a dirty cell, screaming in pain?!

Seizing the fury that that memory brought, Ed slammed his hands together again and dropped to the ground. Cement shot up in a stone tsunami as the ground let out a roar and tremor, a liquid wave crashing into the wall of soldiers and knocking them all back. Shrieks of terror were abruptly cut off with various crunches and a loud, echoing crash as the stone solidified once more, burying men and danger alike. Hands trembling, Ed looked up again to survey the mess he'd made, only to realize that something was missing.

Or, more accurately, _someone._

"Ed, behind you!" Winry screamed out suddenly.

Ed spun around, swinging his blade out in instinctive defense. He gasped out as his blade sliced through something, something that offered too much resistance to just be material… the blonde woman's stomach. The boy pulled back with a cry of alarm, staring in horror as blood spilled from her mouth onto the uprooted cement pavement, splashing as it hit the already spreading puddle from her abdomen. Clutching her wound, the woman collapsed towards him, dropping the hypodermic needle that had been tightly clutched in one hand.

Standing over her, Ed drew in a sharp breath, staring blankly at her shaking form. He had never meant to _kill _her. She was the one that always pitied him, the one that had saved Winry – something he would never forget. She was the one that talked Adams into letting him have a meal when he was close to starvation. Despite being in charge of his interrogation, he had at times even come close to believing she minimized the pain. At times… she was even… kind…

"_You have to understand, Fullmetal," the woman insisted, crouching in front of that hated chair to look at his face. He knew his features were cast into shadow by the uncut bangs hanging over his eyes, but this didn't seem to faze her in the slightest. "I don't want you to go through so much pain for nothing but a mere colonel. This has to stop."_

_Edward glanced up, squinting past a slow trickle of blood into his left eye. She was pitying him again. It wasn't the first time. He would have hated it five years ago, when he was still a proud young teen who thought nothing could hurt him any more than it already had, but now, he knew pity was the only nice thing he would get in this damned place. Gratitude warmed his aching heart, but he would never show it._

"_This is my country," he whispered dully. "I'm going to protect it, no matter – " Ed gasped as a hand rested on top of his head._

"_Look at me." _

_Fearfully Ed glanced up through his matted bangs._

"_You are a _child_. You have no obligation to your country. Your Colonel will completely understand why you gave in. This doesn't need to go on."_

_Ed squirmed in his restraints. "I can't give in! You bastards, don't you understand?! Look what you did to this country! So many innocent people died!"_

"_I admit it," she said softly, making him freeze in surprise. "But then, that's an example of your equivalent exchange, isn't it? Anyway, I'm sure those people died for a cause or for someone dear to them. They chose their path, didn't they?"_

_No._

_You're lying!_

_They died… but…_

_But they didn't want to. They never asked for this! Nobody chooses to… chooses…_

"No!" he screamed, lost somewhere between the memory and the present. "I- I didn't mean it!" He collapsed in front of the dying woman and pressed his hands to the gash in her stomach, trying to help her to slow the bleeding. _Shit, there's so much blood. And that's not… oh _god,_ please don't say that's her… her guts…_

"Ed! We've got to go!" Michael yelled, seeing the blind panic on the young alchemist's face. He limped over to Ed, ignoring the body of his former superior and reaching out to shake Ed's shoulder. He'd just gripped the automail shoulder in a firm grip, ready to drag the boy away by any means, when he suddenly stopped, frozen, gawking at something over Ed's shoulder. "No… no way…"

Ed tensed, hearing a familiar voice. He looked through tear-blurred eyes over his shoulder and his lungs refused to take in any more air. Daniel Adams stood at the top of the steps, staring at all the men strewn throughout the courtyard, half buried by liquefied concrete. "What is this – ?" His eyes stopped on Ed, trailed down to the blood all over his face and hands, then slowly shifted to the body on the ground. His face iced over. "You… you…" Trembling, Ed watched the cold green eyes once more roam over the horrors of the courtyard, trying to truly take in what had happened. As if drawn by two twin magnets, that haunted gaze returned to the body of the blonde woman, and by that one look, Ed suddenly realized something. She'd definitely been more than just a subordinate.

"You… you murdering bastard!" Adams screamed suddenly, the mad ire coming out of nowhere. Everyone in the area started, all eyes instantly turning with fear to Benole's president. "How could you?!" Two of his men, significantly larger than the slim president, held him back from rushing down the steps and attacking the wide-eyed alchemist whose hands were covered in his wife's blood. "Get them! I want him back in the interrogation chamber, NOW!"

"B-but, sir! He took out twenty of the assassination squad, we cant do anything!" a man cried, struggling with him.

"Then shoot them! I want them _dead! _I want – I want _him – all of them – _"

Ed's heart skipped a beat as he flung his head round to stare at Winry and Michael in terror. He was far past caring about himself by now, but he couldn't let them die! "Wait!" he yelled out desperately, bringing his hands up over his head. "Stop!"

Adams eyed him with a death glare that made Ed want to burrow into the ground… which he could now with his alchemy. It would be so easy for _him_ to escape, but with so many soldiers leveling guns at the three of them… he couldn't guarantee all of their safety. A gun was faster than a transmutation. And if so much as a single bullet grazed Winry's skin…

"If you shoot… you might hit her." Ed looked down at the woman bleeding on the ground… bit his lip, took a deep breath… continued. "Just… just let them all go and I'll let you take me back! I won't fight anymore. Nobody else needs to get hurt. Just please… let them go!"

"I'm not doing _anything _for _you_," Adams spat, fire in his eyes. But the man on his left spoke up.

"Sir, he's right. Besides, we can't take him down while he has his alchemy."

"Sir, that's ludicrous!" another soldier snapped, glaring at the other man. "One dog of the military for all these alchemists? I even saw the Flame with my own eyes!"

Adams considered this for a moment, with a sneer of disgust. For a moment, their eyes met, one pair gold and tear-filled, the other green and as hard as emeralds. For the first time, Ed saw the hatred there, as cold and implacable as stone. "No," the man said after a pregnant pause. "Let the others go. We can round them up later – but…" He pointed at Ed, making the boy flinch as if expecting a blow. "He's going straight to the interrogation cells."

"But sir – !" one of the soldiers gasped, incredulous.

"Shut up!" Adams hissed. "I want _him_. I don't care about the others! I want to make that one suffer for what he's done to me!"

Ed bowed his head, accepting his fate, but it was only when the soldiers hesitantly began to move down the steps that the others finally seemed to realize what was happening. "Ed, no! He'll kill you!" Winry cried at last, staggering to her feet from where she had fallen during the short-lived battle.

"Not one move, Fullmetal, or the deal is over!" Adams shouted as the boy made to turn around to Winry. Ed gritted his teeth, fighting down helpless tears at the anguish in Winry's voice. She was crying again. _Dammit, why do I always have to hurt her?!_

"Michael, take her and get out of here!" Ed yelled, shoulders trembling.

The deserter simply nodded as he wrapped his arms around the girl and started to drag her away, ignoring Winry's struggles as she screamed for him to let go. Ed just licked his lips as he faced Adams, eyes narrowed in slits. They would be safe. That was all that mattered.

"Get a medic!" the President snapped, spinning on the soldiers. "I want the top military surgeons treating her, _right now_. Get moving!"

Two men slowly moved up towards Ed, guns pointed at his face. They warily grabbed his arms and shackled them behind his back, avoiding his eyes. "Kid, you're in a world full of pain now," one of them whispered sadly as he nudged him forward with the gun. Did Ed hear sympathy?

~*~

A dark, scorched-looking figure bolted for the courtyard at the entrance of the prison as the flames died behind him, obeying his every whim. Mustang had lost count of the number of soldiers he had taken down on their way in, and the number of prisoners they had sent running towards the exit as they made their way towards the center of the complex. Behind him, Al gasped for breath as he ran, close at his heels. It couldn't be far now, and they would finally have him back.

"Brother!" Al gasped abruptly, breaking into a sudden sprint. Eyes wide, Mustang grabbed Al to hold him back, gawking at the scene up ahead. Men were everywhere, dead or unconscious, half-buried by mobile, living stone – the trademark of only one person. Rubble was strewn everywhere, blood covering most of the broken pieces. It was a familiar battleground, one he hadn't hoped to see in any of his wildest dreams. It looked like someone had gone on a rampage.

Out of the blue, two enemy soldiers rushed up to them, and Mustang automatically held up his hand to snap, but one threw his hands up in surrender. "No, nonono! Wait, man! The president is letting you all go!" the man shouted, throwing his gun down to his feet. His partner did the same.

Al stared in shock, and looked back up at Mustang for reassurance. The ex-Colonel's eyes narrowed, his thoughts running along the same lines. "What's the catch?" he growled, firmly keeping his gloved hand held aloft.

"N-nothing! The Fullmetal Alchemist traded himself for all of you to leave!"

The pair of them gasped, realization dawning. "No!" Al cried. He attempted to shove past the soldiers but they held him back, giving Mustang a pleading look.

"We can't let you pass!" one of them shouted, knocking Al back. "Please, just get out of here before anyone else gets killed!"

"Let me go! You can't have him! No!" the boy screamed, but Mustang took a hold of him and stared over the shoulders of the soldiers, suddenly spotting the missing puzzle piece to the scene. Al went still, seeming to stop breathing at the sight.

They had him, he was so close, but so far out of their reach.

"Brother! No!" Alphonse started kicking once more, renewing his frenzied struggle at the sight of that blood-soaked, trembling little figure on the steps. Roy quickly grabbed his wrists to keep them from clapping together, trying to find the words to talk sense into the boy. He was leaning forward with all his weight, desperate to go to his lost brother. "Let me go! _Let me go!_"

Mustang watched Ed get led up the stairs… back into that terrible prison. _God knows what they'll do to him._ _But can I give up all these people just for him?_

"BROTHER!!!"

Ed suddenly stopped, lifting his head, and slowly turned to look behind him, hearing that familiar voice echoing across all the chaos. Roy felt his chest constrict as he saw Ed's face, his trembling, malnourished form and his dull bronze eyes. He looked… God, he looked _awful_.

Al suddenly stopped struggling, seeing that he had his brother's attention. Across the whole wreckage, Ed looked from Al to Mustang, then smiled quietly at them before being pushed forward by one of the soldiers and roughly led back into the prison.

With one final scream for his brother, Al collapsed on his knees. Mustang released him, letting the boy break down in front of him, screaming incoherent words and crying. As if this was the end. As if Ed was gone to them and never coming back.

Roy's dark eyes hardened. Oh, this wasn't over yet.

~*~

Ed was shoved into the chamber none too lightly, and he tumbled to the ground, legs too weak to support him now the immediate danger was over. He didn't need his strength anymore – it was all over, and Winry was out of there safe and sound. Al was alright too, and Roy was looking after him. His little brother would be safe with that bastard, at least. He curled up in the corner, shivering in the cold air. He wished it was just the chill that was making him shake, but if he were to be honest… that was far from the whole truth.

What scared him the most wasn't that he was going to die. He wasn't sure he cared about that anymore, not really. He should have been frightened that he was to be facing the President's considerable wrath, or even that this was going to be for blood and vengeance and not just for information… but he wasn't. Oh no, what scared him the most was that this wasn't going to be short and sweet. It was going to be a long and agonizing process. He'd be in here for _days_, living out his remaining hours in his own personal Hell. No infirmary, no cell to retreat to, no Winry to tell him it'll be better soon.

_Nothing._

_You're going to die in this dingy chamber._

_Die, really die._

_And for what?_

To save his friends, of course. Only them!

_Save them?! They'll be captured after you're dead! They'll suffer worse than you did!_

No, that wasn't true! They'd run!

_As if. Do you really believe they can get away?_

Ed huddled down on the ground, his shackled hands driving into his back harshly… as if that even mattered anymore, when his own thoughts could make him hurt this much. How long would he have to wait? How long till his death?!

It wasn't long. Not five minutes later, Adams strode into the room, his face set in a grim scowl. Storming towards Ed, he glared down at him, his mouth twisted in a bestial snarl. The boy flinched back, knowing what was to come.

"Why would you do that?!" Adams hissed eventually.

Ed blinked, confused. "I-I… I didn't mean to! She j-just came out of nowhere and it was instinct – "

A loud crack echoed in the room as Adams fist collided with Ed's jaw. "How could you?! She was your mother!!"

The world spun in an explosion of white sparks as the boy's head collided with the wall behind him, and at first he wondered if the impact had made him hear something wrong. He found himself half-laughing, half-sobbing hysterically at what was _obviously_ some insane delusion of his. Adams couldn't really have said that, surely?! "M-my _mother_?!" he gasped through his mad laughter. "What the _fuck _are you talking about!?!"

Adams suddenly pulled away from Ed, shaking his head. He wanted to hurt Fullmetal. He wanted to _destroy him_. Wanted to rip him apart, then rip what was left to _shreds_. First his son was killed… now he had killed his _wife?!_ _No no, don't think like that! She has a chance. She's being treated right now! _He buried his face into his hands and breathed deeply, trying to regain something of the rational man inside the raging monster he was right then. The boy in front of him was shaking, looking at him with so much fear. It pained him to see the famous Fullmetal actually trembling with that much terror. Had they really broken him down that much in the past months? They'd already done enough, broken him enough… but… Janette. He had tried to kill her in cold blood.

Just like all the other alchemists. Just like what they did to his own Edward… _Edward…_

He couldn't bear it any longer.

Picking up a pipe from the corner, Adams stared down at Ed, eyes darker than ever. "Are you ready to feel the pain that you damned alchemists have caused me all these years?"

Ed gave him one frightened look and lowered his head, bracing himself. Lifting the bar, he stared down at the kid cowering below him, then with a unbalanced swing the bar cracked into the side of Ed's head. Ed didn't resist it and his head whipped to the side, hitting the floor. The lights were even brighter this time as they blew up in front of Ed's eyes, taking the light of the world with them as they faded from his vision.

"Oh no, don't you _dare_ go blacking out on me!"

There was another crack and Ed screamed out, his broken hand splintering yet further under the blow.

"We _raised _you!" Adams bellowed, throwing the bar aside and grabbing Ed's chin, forcing him to look up. He moaned softly as bruised muscles were forced to stretch further than they wanted to go. "We loved you so much and then those damned alchemists took you away!"

Ed stared vaguely at the crazed man, trying to focus on his face enough to remember what he was talking about. He didn't get a chance to, as he soon found his head roughly shoved head away as Adams drew a leg back to kick him. The danger set in, and Ed snapped back to reality. "No! Stop!" he yelled. He rolled, moving out of the way of the attack but Adams just scoffed grabbing him by the hair and dragging him to his feet. Ed followed the pull on his hair, forcing himself to stand on his shaky legs.

"You want me to stop?! I screamed that many times trying to save you, you ungrateful bastard! And you go and kill your own mother! _How could you?!_" A knee drove into his stomach and Ed retched dryly, feeling tears well up in his eyes. "HOW _COULD YOU?!!_"

"_She's not my mother!!!_" Ed screamed, trying to think over the pain. "My mother's _dead!_ She's… s-she's…" He sobbed harshly, the recollection of that particular memory too much for him. _A puddle of blood, a pile of crumpled clothes, an intricate, spidery chalk circle, and an atrocity wheezing and whistling in the deathly silence as it struggled to draw in the air that would allow its abomination to live on…_

Another wrench on his hair brought him back to reality as he was thrown bodily across the room and slammed him into the corner. "She's dead, yes!" the maddened voice snarled. "Don't you deny it!"

Ed fell to the ground and pulled his knees up, backing into the corner like he had wanted to for so many months. _God,_ how he wanted just to hide and be left alone. But this raging lunatic wouldn't leave him alone. Not now, not ever.

_This is all for Al._

Ed watched the man stoop to pick the pipe back up.

_This is all for Winry._

Again, his hair was seized and he was dragged from his protective corner. Ed let his body go limp as the man turned on him. No more resistance. There was none left in him.

_For them?! What have they done for you?!_

Pain exploded in his abdomen. And his heart.

_I love them! They're my family! I have to protect them!_

Another sharp pain, and something warm was trickling down his cheeks from his ears.

_What have they done for you?! Why do they deserve this?!_

A groan escaped from his mouth as the bullet wound in his leg re-opened with another hit with the pipe.

_They don't have to do anything! Never! _

_They don't even protect you! They couldn't even save you from this! They let you come back!_

There was a sharp split and something ripped on his chest… inside it… he didn't know. Blood bubbled in his lungs and he started choking, choking back subconscious pleas and burning sobs. Choking back the breaths that would force him to continue this living hell. _Please just let me die!_

_Please… _"Please…"

God, when would it end?!

"You' re not getting out of it that easily."

He was right. He deserved every second of this.

_He was right, Edward Elric._

_You did kill your mother after all._


	10. What did they do to you?

_Three days. It's been three days._

Three agonizing days of waiting, planning, strategizing, and it was all finally over. Now, come what may, the waiting was over. Whether they succeeded or failed, were captured or retained their freedom, lived or _died… _it was time to make their move. _About bloody time._

Mustang's heart had just about stopped when he found out about the execution date three days before. A man had stood up before the masses in Central Square and waxed lyrical about how the Benolean President had decreed that the Fullmetal Alchemist's purification ceremony would be forgone, and he would simply be executed by firing squad in that very place in two days time. Despite himself, Roy had almost laughed. So they'd forgo the torture and the humiliation of the mysterious 'purification ceremony' and just skip to the bitter end? What cruelty! How would Ed _cope?_ After a little thought, though, he'd realised the significance. In the eyes of the Benolean people and their religion, Edward was a sinner beyond redemption. He was effectively going to be excommunicated before his death, consigned to eternal damnation… where he belonged.

It had sent shudders down his spine. The soldiers standing guard in the square acted like this was all some joke, the way they laughed and shook their heads as they discussed it just feet from Mustang's listening ears. As if he _deserved _it.

"Serves him right. I don't think any alchemists deserve to be purified. They should all go to Hell on the spot."

"Yeah, as if any of 'em has done any good."

"It'll be worth missing a few hours of work to see that kid's blood splatter across the platform."

Their raucous laughter was completely unrestrained. Mustang had to force himself to hold back from snapping his fingers and frying them all on the spot. Edward had given up too much to assure their freedom for him to get captured now. But still… _How dare they? _They didn't know! They would never understand what Ed had been put through in such a short life. Whenever Roy looked back on what had been demanded of a fifteen-year-old boy, and even what he had expected of himself years before that… it was like something out of a nightmare, horror after horror piling on with no end in sight. And now, just when they'd thought everything was looking up… well, now the kid would have torture and execution to add to his list. It seemed fate was set out against the kid after all.

And Alphonse. Poor Al wouldn't even look at Mustang anymore since he had held him back from rescuing his brother. He wished he could have tried to explain that putting everyone else first was the best and only way, since they all would have been killed if they had tried taking Ed too, but there had been other important matters to attend to.

They had taken all the rescued alchemists from the prison complex to a safer location, a camp hidden in the mountains some days away from Central. Friendly faces had greeted them with hopeful expressions when they arrived, looking devastated when Mustang had silently shaken his head. His frustration and self-blame had obviously shown on his face – everyone had avoided him for days afterwards. They had eventually returned to Central once they were sure that all the ex-prisoners were settling in, a much smaller group than before.

That journey had been a long one, the atmosphere made stale and uncomfortable by a thousand unspoken words. Alphonse was still sticking to his vow of silence and Roy couldn't stop going over the whole rescue attempt for something they could have done better. Again and again, questions went through his head, but one realization had made him frown more than any other. Over one hundred people had been in that frightened convoy as they ran from the Benolean compound. _One hundred. _Every time Mustang remembered looking around him at the dozens of limping survivors, he could only wonder one thing. What had Edward done? Why was he so important to the Benolean leader to trade over one hundred people just for him… just like that? And if that was the case… to what lengths would Adams go to make sure no such rescue happened again?

Looking down at the overcrowded square beneath him, Mustang was glad he hadn't overestimated Benole's defences.

Wherever he looked, there seemed to be at least four soldiers in his direct line of sight. The soldiers were thin-lipped and grim-looking, their eyes scanning the crowds for any trouble-makers… looking irritatingly focused for plain foot-soldiers. Roy leant over the balcony he stood on to scrutinize the crowd itself more closely, picking out the odd straight-backed bystander standing suspiciously still and quiet, one hand never far from their regulation weapon belts. His eyes narrowed. So… there were plain-clothed soldiers in the crowd as well. Great. And this was all without mentioning the huge array around the square that was quickly becoming Mustang's most hated enemy to date.

The platform itself in the center of Central Square was surrounded by a bristling wall of bayonets, as was the narrow passageway from the street down which the prisoner would be led to the execution site. The riflemen were holding their loaded weapons out towards the milling crowds with the same intense expressions as their counterparts round the edge of the crowd. There was no doubt that they were expecting trouble.

_But you can't fight fire with fire. _Mustang smirked harshly at the thought.

He turned away from the crowd below and put a hand to his ear, listening to the brief crackle before saying clearly, "Command to CommChief. Are we online?"

There was a brief pause before a voice replied in his ear. _"Shit, Chief, do we really have to use the stupid names?"_

His lips twitched. "It keeps things clear, Havoc. How's it going?"

"_Working on it."_

His insides were tight with anticipation as he turned back to the square, pacing to the edge of the balcony as if it held some mysterious magnetism. His eyes flickered to the street where the car holding one nineteen year-old State Alchemist would pull up in around seven minutes' time. Still no sign of it. _Where are you, Ed?!_

"Relax, sir."

Mustang looked up, a guilty expression on his face for having been caught panicking. He was the commander of the whole mission – it simply wouldn't do for him to lose faith at this moment. Riza simply returned his look steadily from where she sat in a striped deckchair at the edge of the balcony, her sniper rifle propped against her leg. He still couldn't get used to how strange Riza Hawkeye looked in jeans. "I'm fine," he replied quietly, shooting a glance at the third member of the 'balcony party'. Compared to her, he really was just fine.

Winry's eyes were fixed on the platform where Ed's execution was to be held, biting her lip with ferocious intensity. Her bruised thumbs were twined tightly together as her fingers twisted together in a subconscious motion she had been repeating for the whole of the last hour. She hadn't moved from her seat for the entire morning.

Roy sighed once more. The girl had flat-out refused to stay in the camp with the rest of the fugitives. They had tried to leave her behind, going so far as to pack and strategize in secret where she couldn't hear, but she had somehow known and turned up on the morning of their departure, her eyes full of steely tears. It had only been that expression that made Mustang give in. He had known instantly when she set her jaw and clenched her fists that there would be no denying her. The girl was too stubborn. Just like Fullmetal.

"How are the comms?" Riza enquired, following his eyeline and quickly changing the subject. "Has Jean connected them yet?"

"He's working on it," Roy answered. "It should be alright. Kain's a good teacher."

Normally, it would have been Fuery monitoring on the connections between them, but as the little sergeant had been in East City, safe with his young wife and their two year-old twins, Mustang had left their communications expert where he was. Instead, Havoc had had a very long phone conversation on a secured, private line, receiving a crash course on wireless communications. It had been the toughest piece of equipment to obtain, being so new and potentially dangerous to the Benolean occupation, but it wasn't for nothing that Mustang had had his eye set on the Fuhrership. Contacts in all places had been called on for today's rescue. Of course, half the plan was down to sheer chance, but the rest…? If everything went well, they'd have Ed of there in no time at all.

He fiddled with his gloved hand as he sat on the edge of the balcony, peering down at the thick crowd. So many people were here just to see the Fullmetal Alchemist's execution? Why were so many of them Amestrians? Had they come out of respect, to mourn the death of a legend? Or did they come to jeer at yet another State Alchemist who had failed to protect the overthrowing of their country? A spark burning through his pant leg made Roy jump and look down at what his fingers were doing. Apparently he'd been clenching his fist so hard he'd nearly set his clothes on fire. He grinned at the mental image of Benole's most wanted enemy suddenly appearing right outside of their gates, a walking ball of flame. _Well, _he thought wryly. _That would have been a signal and a half._

"_Got it, sir!"_

The crackling voice in his ear immediately held his whole attention. "Brilliant," he replied, reaching into his pocket to pull out his silver watch. _Five minutes left. _"Havoc, connect me to Alphonse."

Yet more crackling, and then suddenly, _"C-Colonel?"_

The smirk yet again slipped across Roy's lips. "Alphonse. Do you read me?"

"_Loud and clear, sir."_

Al's voice was a little hesitant, but determined. Roy couldn't help but think what a good soldier Al would have made. He wasn't overconfident, he was practical and level-headed under pressure, and he was almost as bright a genius as his pain-in-the-ass brother. _Hmm. Maybe we don't need Fullmetal after all. _As soon as he thought it, Roy felt crushing regret and fear. Something like that simply _couldn't_ be thought in this situation, however jokingly he'd intended it. "Are you in position?"

"_Yes. The array's about ten feet away. The closest soldier's over thirty feet away, and he hasn't looked my way for a while."_

The ex-Colonel turned his head to squint at a nearby alleyway, its mouth packed with people. Somewhere in there was a young, teenaged boy, looking sweet, innocent and harmless as only Alphonse could. The thing was, their whole plan hinged on him. "You can see the platform from where you are?"

"_Most of it." _There was a slight hesitation, then: _"Ed's… not there yet, is he?"_

Roy licked his lips before replying. "No, Alphonse, he isn't. I'll let you know when we see him. Any questions?"

"_No, sir."_

"Alright. Await the signal, then. Over and out." A pause, then another crackle. Raising one eyebrow, Mustang hoped for the best and said, "Good job, Havoc. Now get me Armstrong."

Armstrong was the wildcard of this 'mission'. They certainly hadn't expected him to appear at the last minute in the refugee camp and declare in his usual, no-nonsense manner, "I am going with you to rescue Edward Elric." They'd waited for the dramatic outbursts, the impassioned pleas, the noble entreaties, but none had come. He had simply stood there, shirt still on, his blue eyes burning into Roy's with more passion than his usual speeches could ever contain. From that moment, Mustang had known Armstrong must come. He hadn't seen the man so serious since Ishbal and the Bradley Coup.

It didn't take too much effort to find the large man, even in the midst of the thick crowd. Having been just a lowly Major and therefore not too recognizable to the public, Alex Armstrong had been the first to volunteer to take on the most dangerous role in Mustang's audacious strategy, and so was standing just a few rows back from the central platform, looking jarringly _different_ in his civilian clothes. Somehow, a tweed hat and thick winter coat over a pair of dark green dungarees actually managed to _suit_ the burly alchemist. He looked a little older, but nowhere near as ridiculous as Roy had envisioned when they had picked the clothes out as a fairly unoffending, 'country bumpkin' disguise. In the huge mass of people, he didn't look out of place at all.

Eventually, he saw the big man's head turn slightly and his lips move. A couple of seconds later, the words sounded in his ears. _"Armstrong to Command. Do you read me? Over."_

Mustang fought back a laugh. It _would_ be Armstrong who remembered the protocols. "Command here. Connection stable. Well done, CommChief."

"_Mustaaang," _came Havoc's whine in his ear. _"You know my na– "_

"_In position, sir," _Armstrong's voice interrupted him. _"Target has not yet arrived. I will await further updates."_

This time, Mustang really did grin. "Ready for a run, Alex?"

"_A jog through the park would be most agreeable indeed, Colonel."_

"Good. Wait for the signal, Major. Over and out."

Mustang straightened and stretched, willing the tension out of his muscles. He'd need to focus later on – adrenaline was good, abject terror was not. He turned to the remaining member of his team, crossing the balcony to crouch at her side. It was, indeed, a good viewpoint. They could see everything that was happening, on and around the platform. The Benoleans no doubt felt fairly safe, surrounded by the massive force as they were, with the Amestrian Army too scattered to organize anything really threatening. They had scouted Central Square when they first established it as their execution site, evicting anyone who they felt could present a threat and replacing the proprietors with their own men, or people they believed would remain loyal to the Benolean cause. It was just as well Mustang knew people everywhere.

"Not long now," he heard himself say, making calm conversation even as the nerves raged within him.

Riza gave him a sideways glance, then returned to staring down at the square with a sniper's eyes. "Three minutes."

"Yes. Havoc will tell us when the car arrives." Havoc was stationed in a building across the street with a window that looked out over the road. They'd originally chosen the spot to coincide with their first plan – stopping the car before it could get to the execution site, taking out the guards, and running with Edward to a waiting get-away vehicle, but the plan had had too many holes and too many opportunities for disaster. They had eventually decided on waiting till they were surrounded by a crowd of people likely to panic and cause chaos at the first sign of trouble. Havoc would still be able to see the convoy approaching, though.

Mustang was forced abruptly back to the present with a jump as someone yelled something above the noise of the crowd, resulting in jeers and laughter from all around. He frowned, settling back into his crouch. The roar of the crowd was deafening now, almost too loud to hear himself think up above it. _Wait till they finally bring out the kid, _Roy thought sickly. That was when Roy's ears would bleed.

He felt a hand on his knee and jumped again. "It'll be fine, sir." Riza's eyes still hadn't moved, and yet she lowered her voice and leant towards him as she said it. "_He'll _be fine."

"Of course," he replied numbly, yet even he could hear the note of doubt in his voice.

"You know Edward. He'll bounce back."

"I know, I just – " He hesitated as someone else cat-called below them, provoking some furious cursing and frenzied protests. Obviously, someone still felt something for 'the hero of the people'. He chose his words carefully before continuing, keeping his voice quiet for Winry's benefit. "You didn't see him. He was… I've never seen him like that. And for him to be… all alone, in there…"

The slim hand squeezed his knee reassuringly in a typically subtle gesture of affection before Riza picked up her rifle and began doing some last minute checks. He knew she wouldn't actually lift it to aim at her target until the last minute for fear someone saw the glint of metal on her weapon, but she no doubt wanted to be as sure as she could before then.

"_Colonel!" _the earpiece suddenly crackled.

Mustang flinched, alerting Riza to the interruption. "Havoc?"

"_They're clearing the road. I think that's a car coming round the corner… yes. Four cars, bullet-proof. Geez, they're not taking any chances, are they?"_

The colonel swallowed. "Can you see him?" he asked quietly.

"_Sorry, sir? Repeat that?"_

He risked a look at Winry, only to find her eyes still fixed on the square. They had welled up with tears once more. "Can you see him, Havoc?" he repeated, a little louder. Instantly, that blonde head swung round to stare at him, imploring him to carry on.

"_Not yet, sir. The windows are blacked out. I think he must be in the third car though."_

Roy checked his watch once more. There was just over a minute left till the convoy was due to be arriving. It wasn't a big difference, but the others needed to be told. "Alright, Havoc. Connect everyone. Update them to the situation."

He listened with his attention elsewhere as Havoc spoke quickly to the others, repeating what he'd just told his colonel. Al was very quiet, speaking only in single-worded replies when spoken to. _No surprises there._

Mustang turned to Riza and nodded to her waiting expression. "They're here."

Her deep brown eyes closed for a brief second, then she turned away and lifted the rifle onto her lap, running her hands along its length and sinking back into her chair. "So are we," she responded calmly.

The minute or so until the convoy arrived seemed like an eternity. They shifted uncomfortably as they waited, Mustang once more pacing along the balcony with heavy steps, his boots feeling as if they were lined with lead. Riza was deadly still, sinking into the complete focus of a preparing sniper that had brought her the title of 'the Hawk's Eyes'. As for Winry… her fingers were trembling now as they worried the skin of her hands, the washing motion taking on a new, frenzied energy as she chewed at her lip, not even seeming to feel it when she bit through the sensitive skin and a drop of blood trickled down her chin.

Roy was just about to go to her and try to calm her down when, finally, they heard a man shouting. "They're bringing him on!"

All three of them leant over the balcony, eyes instantly fixed on the point where the street met the waiting crowd. Soldiers mixed in the crowd were baying for blood and even some Amestrians jeered and laughed at the tiny, black-clad figure as he was half-lifted, half-dragged from the car as it pulled up. The people in the tightly-packed gathering probably couldn't see exactly what they were laughing at, but from the high balcony, Roy's view was crystal clear. What he saw made a vice slowly tighten on his ribcage, until his heart was straining to keep beating and his lungs were seizing air in short, pained breaths. Nothing could have prepared him for that sight.

A tight black blindfold was tied around his head, covering his eyes and holding back his overgrown, blood-soaked hair. Two men dragged him up the bayonet-lined path towards the platform, as his legs were trailing behind him, unused and ignored. At first, Mustang thought the kid was unconscious, the way his head sagged on his neck and his limbs hung bonelessly, but then he noticed the way he flinched with every step as his flesh leg was dragged along the ground. Roy swallowed down nausea. He couldn't see well enough to be sure, but he had a creeping suspicion that if he could, Edward's single leg would be covered in blood and bruises. Still, looking at him… that was just the tip of the iceberg.

His shirt was gone and his ribs jutted out, protruding from his once-muscled stomach. It looked like he hadn't eaten in _weeks. _His flesh arm was so thin now it didn't even match his automail, which they left on his body just to bring more shame upon the poor kid. The humiliation he must feel. He had always hidden his metal limbs and now he was being forced to show them to all of Central and to hear their jeers.

And that blindfold. How appalling. They had blindfolded him for a reason, Mustang realised with a thrill of horror, to strip him of all his remaining pride. He wouldn't be allowed to face his death in the eye like the man he had just become. No, they would simply shoot him down like a wounded animal, limping and terrified, led to the slaughter to put it out of its misery. And the _fear_. He could just imagine the fear in Edward's mind, never knowing when the first bullet was going to rip through his body. Would it tear through a vital organ or only graze him…? Would he pass out into eternal darkness with that first shot, or would it take several minutes before his life ended? The whole time he was led through the angry, mocking crowd, he would be wondering, never knowing if it was going to be a quick and painless end or a long, agonizing conclusion. Death was a frightening concept for any atheist, but in the end, Mustang knew that it would be the darkness and the terrifying oblivion that Ed feared more than anything.

Mustang had never seen Ed show much fear before. Once in a while he would be nervous or frightened for someone he loved, but right now he could see the kid trembling even from such a distance. Was it fear? Or was he cold? It was a bitterly cold winter, even in Central, but somehow, Mustang doubted that was the first thing on Edward's mind.

"Look up, Ed."

Both Roy and Riza blinked at the whispered words, barely heard over the crowd's racket. The tears that had been shining in Winry's eyes for a week had finally escaped, spilling down her cheeks in perfect silence. Her hands had grown still as soon as she set eyes on her friend, and now she lurched forward to clutch desperately at the railing on the edge of the balcony, as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Get up," she breathed, half-choked. "_Move forward._"

There was suddenly a lump in Roy's throat for the first time in many years, the burning feeling only intensifying with every second he watched that frail little figure being manhandled between the two guards as they shoved him up the concrete steps onto the platform, where a squad was quickly forming. Mustang took a deep breath, closed his eyes and lifted his gloved hand. It was time. "This is Command."

"Fall in!" the sergeant behind Ed's figure barked above the crowd's roar.

_Already?! _Indeed, the dozen soldiers had split into two rifle-bearing ranks, and at the man's command, the front fell to one knee.

Mustang couldn't wait any longer. "Good luck, all of you," he murmured.

"Aim!" the sergeant shouted.

The Colonel turned to his Lieutenant and nodded. Below and above, the rifles were lifted and aimed in one smooth motion. In the crowd, somebody pointed upwards at the glint of metal and the flash of fire, and screamed.

By then, it was much too late.

~*~

_Cold. It was so cold_.

People were yelling and shouting and calling names. His ears pulsed with the sound of hatred. The names! ... They_ hurt! _

"Metal boy!"

"Satan worshipper!"

"Failure!"

"Weakling!"

"Pathetic!"

… _Murderer._

He was lifted by his arms and he could feel his feet dragging along the ground. His ankle and calve burned with every labored step, but he was used to pain now. That weight being lifted from him, it was wonderful. He could rest being carried like this. He could rest, if it weren't for…

"_Freak!"_

"Little bastard!"

_Murderer. _The word whispered from the darkness, malicious and dripping with loathing. Whose was that voice? Why did he know it?_ Murderermurderer__**murderer**__._

He was dropped and had to hold his own weight again. Pain in his leg, pain in his ears, pain in his chest, too much pain. The world tipped sideways, but there was suddenly a post there to support him. He fell back against it. His legs felt like they weren't his anymore. Like they were both numb.

_Automail isn't numb, you idiot, _a little voice of reason told him suddenly._ You could never feel it in the first place. You were always broken._

_Broken?_

_Can't just clap to fix this._

_Clap…?_

"Fall in!" a man shouted. Ed tensed up. Something was happening. The frenzied shouts were dying around him into an anxious silence, a silence in which he could hear twelve clicks with frightening clarity. _Clicks?_

_Guns, _the knowledgeable voice in his head informed him.

_Oh. Clicks. _There was a pause before abject terror suddenly iced his bones. He suddenly knew, he understood, he wanted the blindfold _off_, now, right _now_, before the click, before the guns, before the _**bang…**_

God, the silence. The silence, the empty silence of a million words…

_metal boy _

_Satan worshipper _

_failure _

He was shaking, why was he shaking?

_weakling _

_pathetic _

_**murderermurderermurderer…**_

"Aim!"

His head was growing light again, his legs beginning to buckle. He was trying not to fall, to stay where he was told – _do what he was told, always what he was told _– but he wasn't able to stand for much longer. How he missed that chamber where he could at least lie on the floor. That wet, cold, dirty floor. God only knew what was on it. His blood. Lots of his blood.

_freak_

_Murderer. _Louder than ever before, a solitary hiss of revulsion and disgust. _**Murderer!**_

An explosion surged through his ears and he flinched… people were yelling… guns were going off… So many people running, shouting, screaming – _**murderer**__ – _something hot grazed his face, something crackled around him, something hissed. The blackness he could see seemed to _glow_.

Someone grabbed him. He was lifted again. He loved the rest from carrying his own weight. They were running. He was weightless… free……… _free?_

Something snapped in Ed's head. He blinked harshly behind his blindfold and started tugging at the restraints behind his back, writhing like a wild thing to try and get free. Adrenaline surged through him in an acid rush, burning and fuelling all at once as he screamed wordlessly, an anguished, animal howl emerging forth from his cracked lips. Someone was carrying him over his shoulder and running! What was going on!? Where was he?! What happened to the guns?! _What the fuck was happening?!_

He started kicking, trying to off-balance the person enough to falter and drop him, but whoever it was didn't even sway. They were running so fast… he could feel the air streaming past his face, catching the tears as they leaked from under the blindfold. He hadn't even noticed himself begin to cry.

"W-What's happening?!" he croaked, trying to make himself heard over the deafening rush of the wind. "Where _am I?! _What's goi– " He was cut off as his head slammed off the person's back… their hard, hard back. He felt the blood begin trailing from his ears again.

"Don't worry, Edward." His eyes widened behind the black fabric, his struggles stopping instantly. It couldn't be. It couldn't possibly be…… Armstrong? "Relax. We're taking you home."

Ed remained frozen for a long second. Then he smiled, letting his head hang as he let his mind go once more. _Free._

_bouncing _

_running _

_yelling _

_screaming _

_shouting _

_fire _

… _fire? _

_warm… _

_so cold…_

_fire… warm…? Why… why couldn't he be warm… like that fire…? _

_Why?! _

… _Edward?_

_**MURDERER.**_

~*~

Armstrong was not panicking. Not at all. Panic was not a valid reaction in such an imperative role of a major operation. He would remain clear-headed and practical while he waited for back-up. He briskly crossed the street and headed towards the old wooden bench they'd agreed to meet at, breathing the clear air of the park deeply into his lungs. Colonel Mustang had estimated that he would be able to get there around five minutes after their own arrival. There had been no further instructions, only 'wait'. So 'wait' he would.

There was still no reaction from the dead weight on his right shoulder, even as he slowed his desperate pace to a calm stroll. Edward hadn't moved an inch since his screaming fit, after he'd slumped and gone silent. It wasn't right. The young man could easily have been dead if it weren't for his quick, shallow breaths and the frantic beating of his heart against the Major's shoulder. Something was wrong other than the awful bruises and cuts. Armstrong was afraid, deathly afraid, that something had broken inside.

Taking one last glance around for any watching bystanders, Armstrong crouched down beside the bench and carefully removed his precious burden from his shoulder. The sky was beginning to look worryingly dark – all they needed now was a rainstorm. He cradled the young man carefully in his arms before laying him down on the bench, making sure his limbs, both automail and flesh, were straight. With the chaos in the square, he hadn't really had time to worry about making sure Edward was comfortable before grabbing him and running as the elements rebelled with the force of Mustang and Alphonse's combined alchemy.

The Major stared over in the direction of Central Square, hoping that everyone had got out okay. Colonel Mustang had been on the balcony, a prime target for a marksman's shot as he snapped his fingers again and again, causing fiery chaos with one glove, and shielding Armstrong's escape in a haze of masking steam with the other. The alchemic fog had worked wonders, heightening the confusion and making it almost impossible for people on the ground to see within a foot in front of their own faces. On the other hand, Alphonse had been keeping up a constant earthquake in the square after taking down the array, stopping anyone from moving very far. Over it all, Riza had put her gun to further use after firing the signal shot, taking out the befuddled soldiers in the mist below as if shooting cats in a barrel.

The whole operation had been a huge success, but he knew it had only succeeded because of the risks they had all been willing to take for the boy lying beside him. If they were too late… if it had all been for nothing… Armstrong sighed. Now wasn't the time to think of that. Now was the time to help Edward as much as he could. He sighed deeply as he reached for the knot of the blindfold tied around Edward's bruised face. His jaw was unhinged, possibly broken, Armstrong noticed with a mixture of rage and despair. It looked like it had been that way for some time. Finally undoing the tight knot, he removed the blindfold and smiled with relief as the young man blinked and stared up at him.

… Just stared at him.

"Edward? What is it?" he asked with concern, his smile fading as he lightly tapped the boy's cheek.

He didn't even try to answer, just kept staring with a dazed kind of detachment.

"Are you injured? What is wrong?"

Still no reply. The barest twitch of those torn, cracked lips, but no sound emerged.

Armstrong… began to panic. "Edward, speak to me!"

"Major!" He heard a yell behind him and cast a quick look over his shoulder to see the Colonel running over. He stopped and doubled over, hands on his knees, panting. "Damn, I'm getting too old for this." He wiped a hand over his brow to scrape his hair out of his eyes and offered Armstrong a shaky smile. "Hawkeye and the others are just coming. I sent her and the Rockbell girl to get Al and get out of there with the rest of the civilians, seeing as their faces aren't memorized by every soldier in Central." He rolled his eyes, but Armstrong could see the boyish triumph fighting to get free of his forced calm. "Marie will take care of the rifle. It'll be like we were never on that balcony. Mission a success, Major."

"Sir," Armstrong murmured non-committally, not wanting to ruin the Colonel's victory.

"How is he? Has the brat passed out or somethi– " Mustang blanched as he stared at the object of this rescue mission. Something wasn't right. The broken figure that stared back at him with dead eyes wasn't Edward Elric. There had been… some kind of mix-up. There had to have been. "What… w-what happened to him, Major?" Mustang's voice became firm and professional again as he tried to reclaim his calm. He couldn't show Armstrong or Fullmetal that he was on the edge of panic. Just so devastatingly close to a having a full-blown panic attack.

"I'm… not sure, Colonel."

Feeling the anxiety pit in his stomach he shook his head, trying to steady his voice. "Something's wrong… very wrong."

"Wrong?" he thought it was some weird echo of his voice before he realised where the word was coming from. Both Armstrong and he leant forward, desperate for any kind of communication with their estranged comrade. "Wrong?! Very… very, veryvery_very _wrong," Ed repeated, fighting to get the words out past a choked and strained giggle, as if anything about the situation were funny.

The two older men stared in horror. "God Almighty," Armstrong whispered, pale.

Gritting his teeth, Mustang knelt down next to Armstrong and slipped his arm around the boy's back, forcing him to sit up. Ed's ribs and spine dug into his forearm like blades and Mustang thought he saw the young alchemist's eyes tighten slightly in pain. "Ed, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Okay? … Okay. Okay… okay, okay, okay…" the blonde echoed, voice changing tones with each 'okay'. His eyes were looking glassier by the second. It seemed he was finding it hard to stay conscious. "Okay?! Okayokayokayoka– "

Mustang let out a strangled noise and clamped his hand over Ed's mouth, silencing his mimicking rant. He threw a wide-eyed glance up at Armstrong, looking for some reassurance… anything that would tell him Ed was going to snap out of it. He couldn't accept that that genius mind, that intellect beyond his years, that sharp, cutting wit… could have disintegrated into _this._ Suddenly, Mustang was slapped into a chilling reality as he felt a trembling hand clamp over his own mouth. Looking back with a start, he saw Ed's eyes big and wide, his small hand clutched over Mustang's face.

"Echopraxia," Armstrong said abruptly.

Mustang stared at him, turning his head so Ed released his mouth. "W-what?"

"It's echopraxia," the Major repeated softly. "All the symptoms. Echolalia as well."

The ex-Colonel frowned, accepting this without question. He had never heard of those terms before, but he would never doubt the Major's medical expertise. "What is it? Is it… a mental illness?"

He nodded grimly. "Yes. It's a symptom of many illnesses. Echolalia means the patient repeats words and phrases that are spoken around him. Echopraxia is the mimicking of nearby movement… which he is clearly doing," he added, looking back over at Ed. The young man was watching them, but it seemed their conversation was too quiet and too fast for him to make any attempt at copying.

Roy had to admit, he was glad. "So… he repeats everything?" he choked.

Armstrong nodded again. "Not everything, but whatever catches his interest."

His heart doubled in pace as he stared back at Ed, a thought quickly occurring. Eyes never leaving the young alchemist's face, he slowly lifted his left hand high above his head. The reaction was instant. The emaciated wrist twitched off the bench and wavered into the air, the boy struggling to lift his weak arm but never once thinking of giving up. Mustang blanched and snatched Ed's arm to pin it to his side once more, jostling him roughly as he seized him by both arms and found himself shaking the kid hard. The blonde head rolled on its shoulders, unable to support itself against the Colonel's frantic shaking. He had no idea what he was doing. He felt like he could shake the sense back into his cherished subordinate and protégée if he simply shook him hard enough. He had to! He had to shake this… _disease_ from the kid's head! Ed wasn't this stupid! He wasn't… this wasn't… it wasn't supposed to be _like _this!

"What's wrong with you, Ed?!" he yelled, shaking the boy harder. "What did they do to you?!"

"Colonel, please! He doesn't do it on purpose! He can't tell us anything!"

Alarmed, Armstrong stood quickly and grabbed Mustang's shoulder, pulling him away from his helpless target to sit him down on the bench beside him. Two large, ham-sized hands fell on his shoulders and gripped firmly, reassuringly. For a moment, Roy felt like a child being calmed down after a particularly bad nightmare. _Maybe I'll wake up, and this will all be a nightmare, _he thought, dazed. _I'll be sleeping on my paperwork at Headquarters and I'll wake up to the barrel of Hawkeye's gun._

"He has severe injuries," Armstrong was saying. "We have to be careful when handling him. If we're gentle with him… well, sir, it may only be temporary – shock-induced. He's handling it well given the circumstances – "

"You call this _handling, _Alex?!" he snapped, voice trembling. "Look at him! He's fucked up in the head!"

Mustang rubbed his face with both hands, muttering an apology under his breath as he struggled to regain control. _Come on Roy, get it together! _he lectured himself, taking deep breaths._ Hawkeye will be back with Winry and Alphonse any minute. I can't be yelling at the Major and shaking Ed to within an inch of his life…_

In a voice that sent chills down Mustang's spine, Ed began to speak once more. It was an eerie reminder that the boy was listening to every word they were saying, whether he understood it or not. "Look," he whispered, childlike. "Look at him! Look, look… what's _wrooong?_" He was growing more and more distressed, beginning to shake again as his words started to slur together. "Fucked up in the _head_, the _head_, look, Colonel, please… please, _pleeease… What did they do to you, Ed?! _Ed? Ed, _Ed_,_ Edededed…"_

Armstrong did the best he could, shrugging off his large coat and wrapping it around Ed's trembling shoulders as he tried to murmur comforting words, which only ended up being repeated in the frantic rant. Mustang grew even angrier with himself. He had been so upset over Ed's behavior that he hadn't even thought of the kid's most basic needs. He might be dehydrated, was almost definitely starving, and it seemed likely from his hoarse, shallow breathing that he had internal injuries that might run the risk of internal bleeding. And all he had done was freak out like some green-horned idiot and nearly give Ed whiplash.

Leaning forward over his knees, Mustang bowed his head and tried to think this out, leaving Ed to the gentle giant for the time being. From here out, they had decided on two courses of action depending on how bad Ed was. Firstly, they could flee before the city was put on red alert and hopefully escape the lockdown that was sure to follow. That option would mean three days of travel through the wasteland outside Central before Ed could have any medical attention or any real rest. Seeing the damage now, Roy knew that that was no longer a possibility. So that meant option two – they went into hiding. An old friend of the Armstrong family had volunteered to hide them and had even managed to acquire the services of a doctor by calling on some old favours. They needed to get there as soon as the others arrived, for Ed's safety. He watched the Major rub both of Ed's arms in attempt to warm him up, his brow furrowing in concern. It seemed useless. The kid kept trembling, eyes glazed and mouth slightly parted, no longer even attempting to speak.

He looked so lost.

Was he as lost as Mustang felt? He had no idea what to do for his ex-subordinate, friend… and yes, maybe even some kind of son figure. He had to admit he'd always felt some kind of protectiveness of the two Elric orphans – claiming a natural paternalism was as good an excuse as any. But how could Ed look up to someone like him? Especially when he lost his cool in such a vital situation. Luckily, it seemed he hadn't traumatized Ed or caused him to fear him… so that was good. At least he still had the kid's trust, but then, it looked like Ed would trust even a Benolean soldier with a gun aimed at his head right then.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and jumped, whipping his head round to look at the Major. His eyes were wide and he looked even _scared. _Jumping to his feet, Mustang stepped over. "What is it, Major?" He stopped and stared at Ed's back, where the larger man's eyes were fixed, but he couldn't see anything.

"I knew that torture was a likely outcome, Colonel, but still, to see the atrocities they have committed in the flesh…" Armstrong breathed, gently gathering Ed's hair in one hand and lifting it to expose the back of Ed's neck.

Mustang's stomach jolted up into his throat as he gagged. "What the hell is that?!"

His neck was bruised, but that wasn't what made the alchemists cringe. Lines, black lines, ran down the length of his neck. Mustang counted six. They were festering and greenish yellow pus was oozing out of tiny holes at one end of each of the lines. Red inflamed them, making them puff with infection. Armstrong slipped the coat down and showed Mustang his back. And it was the same. Maybe a dozen of the same needle thin lines were scattered. They were only about four inches long, but his back was festering with all the infections. Red lines ran up from the inflammations and were tracing their way to the base of Ed's neck, trying to reach his heart.

Blood poisoning.

As lightly as he could Mustang touched one of the lines and jerked his hand away, surprised by the hardness.

Armstrong sighed heavily and rested a hand on the boy's head, stroking his hair with infinite care. "They broke needles off in his skin."

The other alchemist drew in a sharp hiss of breath as he bit back the childish urge to set something on fire. They must have known the kid's fear of needles after so long in that place… and they had just _broken them off in his skin?! _How the hell had Ed managed to lie there on his back without complaining that a dozen infected needles were digging into his back and the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck? Just what had Ed gone through that made such a thing unremarkable to him?!

"Sadistic bastards!" Mustang growled. "If I ever see another Benolean soldier I'll make sure he _suffers_."

"It would not do any good to sink to their level, Colonel, especially when they had no hand in the deed itself," reproached Armstrong, lightly replacing the coat around Ed's shoulders again and maneuvering him into a sitting position. "The needles probably didn't hurt too much, its just the infection. We need to get him antibiotics to stop the blood poisoning. It could be fatal."

Roy nodded silently, staring down at Ed. His eyes were half-closed as he started to drift off into unconsciousness and he still wasn't showing any symptoms of his – Mustang hated to even think the words – _mental illness. _Was he coming back? He knew he shouldn't get his hopes up, never _ever _get his hopes up, because that only made things worse, but he wanted so much to believe that the broken mind could be repaired with time. Ed simply sat where he had been put, eyes slitted and staring at nothing but whatever his lost mind could be conjuring up in front of him.

"Brother?! Colonel, is he okay?!"

_Because when you think things can't get any worse, life loves to prove you wrong. _Mustang turned as he heard Alphonse shouting from the street. He was running at full pelt, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were on the run from the occupying military, leaving Riza and Winry behind. Mustang suppressed a groan. He couldn't let Edward be seen like this – he wouldn't have wanted that. Mustang could just imagine Ed's fierce glare and furious declaration of, "Stupid Colonel Bastard!" if he ever found out that Alphonse had been allowed to see him in this state. Armstrong turned to him and he could tell from just that shared glance that they were thinking the same thing.

Standing up, the Major walked towards Al and headed him off before he could run to his brother. The boy tried to walk round him, intent on the crumpled figure on the bench behind the Colonel, but one large hand snaked out and fastened round his wrist before he could pass.

"What are you doing?! What's wrong with him?! Let me go!"

"There's _nothing_ wrong with him, Alphonse!" Mustang snapped as he gathered Ed up in his arms, supporting his dead weight against his chest and being extra careful with his inflamed neck. He supported the boy's back and lifted him off the ground, letting the heavy blonde head lean on his arm so it would loll around. It would have felt as if he were carrying an infant if it hadn't been for the crushing weight of the automail. Really, that was all he was carrying, the automail. Ed was just a skeleton with skin and some barely functioning organs, living for the purpose of binding the two heavy metal limbs together.

As if you could call that living. More like hanging on.

"Just give him some space," Mustang added, feeling like an ass for snapping at Alphonse. "He's fine, he's just… in a little shock." There _was _something wrong with Ed. He just couldn't tell Ed's baby brother that his only living relative was 'loco en la cabeza' and didn't show any signs of snapping out of it just yet, if ever.

He glanced over his shoulder at Al, who had now stopped his half-hearted struggles against Armstrong's restraint. Tears were streaming down his face. "He's alright? Really?"

"Of course, Al. Just give him some space, okay? Give him time." Mustang forced a smile and nodded at Riza, who kept the worryingly quiet Winry behind. Her gaze was suspicious, but she returned the nod, understanding. They didn't need the two in hysterics, since that would most likely freak Ed out. Roy himself wasn't sure he could take much more of Ed's 'illness' right then. "It's your turn now to be strong for your brother."

Sniffing back his tears, Al nodded, pushing away from Armstrong. "I will, Colonel," he replied determinedly, already trying to sound strong. "Is he… hurt?"

Mustang sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you, Al, he has severe injuries… but we'll take him to the medic and he'll be alright. I'm sure it's nothing he can't bounce back from."

Al took in a deep breath and shuddered. For a long moment, he looked down at the ground, licking his lips, before he gazed up at the Colonel and smiled hesitantly. Days of angry glares and uncomfortable silences faded into memory in the wake of that grateful smile. "Thank you," he mumbled.

"It's nothing," Roy muttered, rolling his eyes. "Just… don't worry about him. He's going to act… odd for a while, but that's only natural. We have to find out what they did to him, then maybe… maybe we can help him tackle it."

The young boy froze, his grey eyes widening in realization. "W-was he… _tortured?_" he gasped, horrified.

Mustang hesitated for half a second, then nodded reluctantly. He heard a small sob escape from Winry as Al buried his face into his hands, releasing a strangled sob at the shocking realization that was brought down on him like a hammer blow. The Colonel only wished there was a more subtle or comforting way to tell Al that his brother had the sense knocked out of him on a daily basis, but nodding was the only thing he could do for the boy. At least, he thought as he turned away and headed towards safety, he could offer Alphonse the truth.

**[B/N: Kib finds it hilarious that a fair bit of this chapter was written/edited while listening to the cheery sounds of Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas Is You". It certainly puts a new twist on the situation.]**


	11. Something That Can't Be Healed

**[A/N: Hello theeere, everybody! Kib here! And yes, this right here is an Author's Note. Not a Beta's Note, or a Co-Writer's Note, an AUTHOR'S Note. D'you know what this means, guys? It means Kib has finally written a chapter all on her lonesome! Hooraaaaay! Take that, 16-month long writer's block! Take that!**

**Mm, triumphant much? Eheh. Anyway, we're sorry it took so long. As this is a co-written fic, Morg has to wait for me and my shit, which means she waited till I was ready. And then told me to write it myself. -pouts- Anyway, hope you enjoy it. Bit of a filler chapter and pretty short, but given the events of the last chapter, that's not too much of a surprise.**

**Oh, and why do you all hate Adams so much? Give him a chance, people! He's a nice guy really. Just… er, misunderstood! -cough- notthatKib'sgotchronicvillain-lovingsyndromeoranything -cough- Eheh… heh…?**

**I really like A/N's! Paha! Okay, rambling done… without further ado…]**

* * *

The door slammed shut with a cold finality that made three heads snap up in unison to fix four pairs of shining eyes on the man who stood in front of it. Roy Mustang looked up at them all, paused for a moment, then finally swallowed hoarsely and muttered, "He's stable," before striding past them all to leave the room. A few tense moments passed and another door slammed somewhere deeper in the house, before Havoc released a long sigh and the tension shattered.

Curled into a trembling ball on the only chair in the room, Winry found herself starting to cry again. She didn't know why – she should be pleased, delighted, _grateful_ that Ed was going to survive everything that had happened during these terrible months – but all she could summon was a feeble wave of relief. Even that was soon eclipsed by the usual, crushing guilt that had been with her ever since that day, when Ed had traded his own life for hers. Oh yes, it had been a wonderful thing to do, and the dozens of innocent prisoners who had escaped as a result were all but worshipping the Fullmetal Alchemist for his valour and courage, but deep down, she knew the real reason for his sacrifice. After she had given away their friendship back at the infirmary and got herself hurt as a result, he had blamed himself. She'd seen it in his eyes. He _was_ Ed, after all. And after what they'd done to her… he would have done anything to make sure she got away safely.

She gazed at the closed door, heedless of the tears running down her cheeks. _Stable. _When it came down to it, what did 'stable' mean anyway? He wasn't going to die. He would make it for another day, hurting, perhaps incurably injured, terrified and shaken… so badly hurt that Major Armstrong and Colonel Mustang hadn't let her or Al see him since they'd got to this tiny little house in the backstreets of Central. Alphonse had been tired enough from all his alchemy that he had only ranted and railed at Mr. Mustang for thirty minutes before succumbing to his exhaustion and going to sleep in one of the rooms upstairs, but she had been pleading for over seven hours now. The doctor had come, the Colonel and the Major had led him into the 'sickroom' and the stench of blood, sweat and infection had gradually been replaced by the bitter scent of medicine and disinfectant, and yet still none of the soldiers would let her see what had become of her closest friend. She just had one word to sustain her through the painful wait: 'stable'.

"Winry," came a soft voice behind her. She turned her head to look up at Riza, leaning against the wall behind her, her eyes compassionate. "If the Colonel says he's stable, he'll be alright. There's no need to worry anymore."

No need to worry? Winry looked away quickly, biting her lip. They must think she was stupid. Perhaps Alphonse was innocent enough to truly believe that once somebody recovered from their wounds, they'd be fine once more, but she knew better. Some things never healed.

A memory of Resembool kept plaguing her thoughts, a story from her childhood that she could only just remember. It was one of those stories which her grandmother had told her so many times that she wasn't sure anymore what she truly remembered and what she'd made up to fill in the gaps in her memories. She knew it had been a dark, cloudy night, with no stars in the sky and the moonlight only just managing to streak the hazy sky. A knock had come at the door in the middle of the night, and her father had opened the door to find a stranger curled up on the doorstep, shivering in the winter cold. She remembered crouching on the stairs where she couldn't be seen, listening to his insane mumbling. "Haversack," she remembered him saying, quite clearly, to her bewildered parents. "Haversack, in the haversack. Great big thing, that haversack. Couldn't miss it, really, could you?"

Ever the golden-hearted healers, her parents had let the man inside and sat him down at the kitchen table, concerned but cautious. In the lamplight, they could see that the man was extremely thin and covered in still-healing scars, with dark skin and wide, bloodshot red eyes. They exchanged a horrified look that spoke volumes. The man was obviously a refugee from Ishbal, and the war had evidently not been kind to him.

He'd stayed at the house for a couple of days, getting his strength back. At the time, she and Ed had only been about six years old and were both fascinated with the stranger, who in turn had seemed almost entranced by the small, blonde children who peeked in at him around doorframes and through windows. Though he would smile faintly at them, seeming almost reassured by their presence, nothing he said made any sense to the children. "Should get inside, kids," he'd told them amiably one time, while they were all sitting comfortably in the living room, drinking tea. "Too much fire out here. Makes it hard to breathe, see." Standing in the afternoon sunshine as Den licked Al's face as he squealed and squirmed, much to the whole family's amusement, the stranger had abruptly come out with, "Parents are hard to come by, you know," then smiled blankly up at the sky. "So are children though. So are children."

It was only later, much later, when the stranger was long gone from their home and even the Ishbal Rebellion itself was over, that Winry finally understood. Far past the point of pain or emotional turmoil, the stranger had been eternally lost in the destruction that he had fled from. When trying to explain himself to confused bystanders, all he could explain was the location of the bomb that had ruined his life. When confronted with innocence, all he could see was the danger he had long since escaped. Although he was safe and his injuries were healed, his mind had been constantly replaying the trauma of his past. And although her parents had been doctors of the highest calibre, even they were unable to heal the damage done inside.

That man, she knew, had been 'stable' as well. He could walk, talk, laugh and smile. To the casual observer, he was the happiest man alive, never so much as frowning or even flinching at a scratch or a stubbed toe. But she knew that everything that was going on in his head was caused by intense trauma… just like everything Edward had gone through back at the prison. She remembered Mustang's expression as they'd ran across the park towards the prone, trembling blonde figure they could see laid out across the bench, before Armstrong's broad figure blocked their view and Ed was whisked away from their eyes. She'd never seen the arrogant, cocksure colonel look so… lost. So helpless. Like he had been confronted with something that he genuinely had no idea how to tackle.

Something he couldn't heal.

"Eh, well…" Havoc's voice broke the silence with almost pained awkwardness. He'd been sucking on a cigarette like it was his only source of oxygen for the whole seven hours since they'd got in, his hands trembling whenever he had to stop and light a new one, and now as he headed for the room that was the centre of all that tension, his desperation was written all over his pale face. "Guess I'll go… see how the Boss is doing. Don't wanna leave the Major alone with the shrink." He paused at the unresponsive silence, then grinned shakily. "Don't wanna leave the poor shrink alone with the Major either," he added, with a lame attempt at humour.

Behind Winry, Riza's lips twitched upwards slightly with dutiful, exasperated amusement. "Good idea, Jean," she said quietly.

"Mr. Havoc?" Winry murmured as he turned towards the door. She unfolded from the chair and got to her feet, licking her lips. "Can I come in… with you?"

The smile faded from Havoc's face. "I'm not sure… that's a…" He glanced at Riza, pulled a face, and patted Winry awkwardly on the shoulder. "Not sure that's a good idea, Winry."

"But – !"

"Look, I'll see how he's doing, 'kay? Then we'll see what the Chief says, and… yeah."

Seeing the hesitance in Havoc's eyes, Winry felt a weight settle in the pit of her stomach. "He's not okay, is he?" she asked softly, mentally cursing her voice as it broke once again. Neither of the two soldiers responded, but Havoc's Adam's apple rippled as he swallowed and Hawkeye's boots shuffled on the floor as she shifted uncomfortably. "It's alright, I…" Winry whispered, "I-I knew. I knew from back then, he wasn't… it's okay if, if I… I…" She ignored the sob that escaped, lurching forward and grabbing onto Havoc's arm with a desperation born of panic. "I know that he's not himself, but I just want to see him! Is that so terrible? I-I can't… I can't _hurt_ him anymore, r-right? He can't… I-I won't… I won't let him…"

A hand landed on her shoulder from behind and pulled her back into the chair as she crumpled once again, tears falling like rain, body trembling like the storm. She bit down on her hand, furiously trying to quell the shaking and sobbing. God, there it was again. Although she wept so openly, there was a tiny voice inside her head hissing, _Pathetic. You're so pathetic._

She curled up tighter, wishing the sound of her own wails would drown out that voice, but it jeered on, a dark, scornful taunt at the back of her mind.

_Cry, cry, cry, that's all you ever do. It's all you _can_ do. That's why they won't let you see him. You're a danger to him, a burden. He was nearly killed because of you. And all you could do to help him? … Cry._

God, it hurt so much. It would have hurt if it came from someone else, someone who didn't know or understand, but it really _ached _because she knew every word was the truest that she would ever hear. After all… the only person who truly ever knows you is yourself.

_You'll hurt him with your tears, hurt him beyond all repair, beyond healing, beyond help, beyond hope. Who knows, maybe you already have?_

No, no… he would get better. He had to get better. She couldn't live without him. She couldn't – she just couldn't…

_It's alright, little girl, keep crying. Keep crying so he'll come back and make everything better for you, because he can't stand the sound of your pitiful whining. So long as _you're_ alright, then it's okay, isn't it?_

… _**Isn't it?!**_

It went silent in her mind, blissfully, painlessly silent… until she realised that the answer to that last, scathing question lay bare in the silence. Her sobs, still echoing around the room, were the only sound. Her helpless, defenceless, useless_ crying_.

… All she could ever do.

"Winry."

She looked up, realising with a start that Riza's eyes were shining with unshed tears too.

"I don't think you're ready to see him yet," the older woman said kindly, "And I don't think… _this_" – she gestured at the girl vaguely, but Winry knew what she meant – "is going to help him, okay?"

Winry swallowed, hesitated for a moment, then nodded weakly. She didn't think she could have formed words right then if her life depended on it.

Riza turned to the paralysed Lieutenant behind her, who had frozen helplessly when the crying started. "Go ahead, Jean."

"Uh… yes ma'am, right away." Jean shot one last glance at Winry and disappeared behind the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

The two women were left gazing at each other, one with compassion, one with desperate hope. Riza watched the young woman's expression with sorrow, wishing there was something she could do. Those big, blue eyes pleaded with her to give her _something_ to believe in, something to hold on to, but she had nothing. Winry would just have to do as the rest of Amestris was doing, and pray for a miracle. Either that, or pray the Fullmetal Alchemist recovered in time to _give _them one.

"Come on, Winry," she said eventually, offering the girl her hand. "You haven't slept in days. Let's go and keep Alphonse company. You'll be of more use to him than you will to Edward right now, and you'll be no use to anyone if you can't keep your eyes open."

Winry's tongue darted out to wet her lips, then she nodded again and took the proffered hand to pull herself to her feet. "Alright," she replied in a small voice.

Offering her a quick smile, Riza turned from the room and led her upstairs. Hopefully _someone_ would get a good night's sleep.

_What now?_

Damn it, how he wished he had an answer. Answering questions was one of the many tasks in life that he'd always taken for granted. 'What now?' was an easy question to answer – all you had to do was think of a plan of action. Consider the circumstances, match them up with the desired conclusion, and give orders to your unquestioning subordinates. Simple, really. It had nothing on 'How?', 'Who?', and worst of all, 'Why?'

_Why?_

… another question that was screaming in his skull, demanding to be solved.

A wise man had once told him that if someone could truly crack the answer to 'Why?', the universe would probably end. 'Why?' was the golden question, a philosopher's nightmare, the bafflement of the whole world. So, given the impossibility of finding that answer and the helpless rage building inside him whenever he even _tried_, he thought he had justification in putting off the inevitable, life-changing, world-shattering 'Why?' and instead, replacing it with an equally frustrating, but slightly more productive task.

So. _What the fuck do I do now?!_

"Sir?"

Roy looked up with a grimace. Sprawled on the dusty floor of a darkened, empty room wasn't really how he'd wanted his trusted Lieutenant to find him in this situation, but then, Riza was Riza. She would without doubt always manage to be there in his darkest moments, whether he wanted her there or not. "Yes, Lieutenant?" he answered wearily. He screwed up his eyes as the light flicked on, shooting her a miserable look. "Mmf. You could have just left the light off."

"I wanted to be able to see your face when you start lying to me, sir," Riza responded levelly.

He lifted an eyebrow and looked away, unable to meet her accusing gaze. "I won't be doing that today, Hawkeye."

"Good."

Roy heard footsteps cross the room and looked round to see his lieutenant sink onto the end of the single bed in the middle of the room, folding her hands in her lap. She was still wearing her jeans and the checked shirt that she'd worn during the conflict, the right side of her face powder-stained from the rifle, the left marked with a small bruise over her eyebrow. He frowned slightly. "What happened to your face?"

"It was chaos down there in the square, sir," she replied levelly, lifting a hand to rub at her face. A streak of grey was left where she'd smudged the powder, framing the cheekbone under one bloodshot eye. "Somebody pushed me too hard and I fell. Nothing important."

Mustang nodded and looked back down at the ground, shifting his back against the wall behind him. No matter where he sat, he couldn't seem to relax. The silence stretched, comfortable between them. Eventually, Roy knew his lieutenant would start to quiz him and it would probably be merciless, but for the moment they sat, together but apart, each thinking their own thoughts.

_What now?_

… Perhaps Riza's questioning would be preferable after all.

As if reading his mind, she finally spoke. "What does 'stable' mean, sir?"

The expected question. One he had an answer for. _Wonderful._ "He'll be alright. He's on an IV for antibiotics and morphine as well as well as fluids, and Doctor Ewin was able to extract all the needles and gave Edward medication for the blood poisoning, which seems to be working well enough. His fractured jaw has been wired and the doctor treated all the lacerations to his face and back, and although he was unable to put his broken arm and ankle in casts, he wrapped them tightly – same with his ribs. He's also got a chronic fever – the doctor says that's the most dangerous thing at the moment, due to the heat taking more energy than his body can provide – but Ewin administered an antipyretic, so that should help."

Roy wracked his brains for anything he'd forgotten. There had been a lot of blood, both dried and fresh, so much that he'd been unable to tell exactly what the doctor had been doing sometimes. He'd spent most of the seven hours staring at the young man, remembering the last time he'd seen Ed in this kind of state. The first time they'd met, he had been unsure whether Edward even knew he was there. His eyes had been open, his single hand was clenched in a small fist, and he'd swallowed occasionally, but otherwise, there'd been no signs of consciousness.

That time, Ed had just lost his mother, almost lost his brother, and waved goodbye to his innocence forever. He had been to the Gates and stared the Truth in the face. He had lost his arm and his leg. He had consigned his little brother to a metal body for the rest of his life. The weight of pain and guilt on his heart had been enough to turn his eyes into blank yellow spheres and his face into an empty mask.

What had Adams done to him that could possibly compare with all that?

And _why?!_

He jerked back to the present, blinking up at Riza, whose soft gaze was too knowing for his liking. "Ewin said everything should heal given time to mend," he continued his report shakily, "Though Fullmetal will have extensive scarring, and it will take him some time to build up enough muscle mass to be able to walk under his own steam. And… the doctor said his left hand will probably never be the same. But otherwise… yes, he's stable."

Two red eyes stared at him, not fooled by his bluff. "And?"

"And what?"

She swallowed, licked her lips, looked down at the carpet for a fraction of a second, before looking back up at him. Even for Riza Hawkeye, some things were hard to put into words. "What else will never be the same, sir?"

Roy drew up one knee, wrapping his arms loosely around it. He would have liked to curl up completely, to banish the chill inside him, but there were expectations to be kept up. "I don't know, Hawkeye," he said quietly. "I really don't know."

"That's not good enough, sir." Riza's stare was intense, but he could tell that the anger in her tone wasn't aimed at him. She simply wanted to know what would become of her comrade. "You were in Ishbal, both you and Major Armstrong. The Major had it bad himself. Surely, sir, you can tell enough to know whether he'll recover?"

He felt his nails digging into his thigh, and lowered his head. That was somewhere he'd been trying not to let his thoughts go. He remembered Ishbal. He remembered Alex screaming as he finally broke down, and had to be sent back behind the lines. Years afterwards, he remembered the nights of waking up shivering uncontrollably and throwing up in the bathroom for hours before he could even think about looking at his bed again. But even through all of that, neither of them had ever experienced the kind of things Edward had been going through for months. It shouldn't have surprised him, the state they'd found the poor kid in. But still… he just couldn't comprehend it. The mind of a genius and the spirit of a legend – it had all just disappeared. All that was left in its place was the husk of all that Edward Elric had been.

"I'm not sure," he said again, honestly, this time. "He might recover. But I can say with confidence… I don't think he'll ever be the same again."

Riza took a deep, shuddering breath, and let it out. There was a moment when he thought she was going to shout, or scream, or possibly burst into tears, but with typical Hawkeye control, she simply swallowed once more and said softly, "We should tell Winry and Alphonse then, sir."

"No."

"Winry already knows there's something wrong. If she's figured it out, it won't be long before Alphonse does as well. Besides, if he's going to be… ill, for a long period of time, Alphonse will want to take care of him. He is his brother, his only relative."

"No… he wouldn't want that," Roy said more firmly, clenching his fists. He looked away, his voice turning harsher as he tried to keep a grip on his self-control. "You think Ed would really want his little brother washing him, changing him, wiping his chin when the food slips out of his mouth? D'you think, if he ever did recover, he could ever stand the shame?"

Riza's eyes widened. "He's that… that bad?"

For a long moment, her only answer was the sound of her colonel's harsh breathing as he fought his emotions. Eventually, he lurched to his feet and crossed the small room in front of her, standing facing the door, his back towards her. Although she couldn't see his face, she could see his inner turmoil in the tenseness of his shoulders and the clenching and unclenching of his fists. "He was awake through the whole thing," he said eventually. "Or at least… most of it. He kept fading in and out of consciousness, but the doctor didn't anaesthetise him or anything. He… he didn't need to."

Another deep breath in, released slowly as if to try and release the tension with it. Riza didn't comment. There were times to keep your composure. This wasn't one of them.

"He never made a sound, Riza," Roy whispered, sounding haunted. Riza blinked at the sound of her first name from Roy's lips. That he was willing to break down and talk to her as a friend, not a subordinate… meant that this had hit him hard. "He didn't even flinch. It was like he couldn't feel anything. Ewin pulled those needles out one at a time, and with all the shit that came out of the holes after they'd been extracted… it must have hurt so much… There was so much blood, so much puss and liquid and… a-and he threw up at one point, and still…" One of the fisted hands leapt up to Roy's face, and his words muffled as he clasped it over his mouth, his whole arm trembling. "_God_, Riza, he never made a sound. It was like he wasn't _there_, like there was no-one _inside_… and all the time he'd just repeat and repeat and all I could say was, "_Shit_", and he just… he was just lying there… _smiling… _going, 'shit shit shit, _murderer_, shit shit shit…'"

He threw his head back to the ceiling, his face covered by both hands as his harsh breathing became more irregular, fighting off sobs. _Why?! _screamed the questions in his mind. _Why would anyone do that to that poor kid?! Why, what had he done? Why wasn't I there?! Why couldn't I have been earlier?! Why couldn't he have held on for just another _day, _just a few more hours…?! Why, why… _why?!

"We were too late, Riza," he gasped, his hands sliding outwards to clutch at his head, like it was the only thing keeping the questions from spilling out. "I was too late. I couldn't save him. I tried, but…"

Warm arms wrapped around him from behind and he leaned into them, far past caring about appearances. Riza's face pressed against his shoulder, her breath hot through his shirt, and he swallowed desperately as he heard her say, just as close to tears as he was, "We tried. That's all we could do, Roy."

He shook his head, fraught despite her words. "We should have attacked the prison complex. We managed it once. We could have done it again. He was alive, he was _fine,_ he _smiled _at me. If we'd got him out then – "

"It would have turned into a bloodbath. It was more important to see to the wounded and get the prisoners somewhere safe."

"Even if it cost Edward… his sanity?"

A pause, and a sigh. The warm surge of air from her lips caressing his throat made the back of his neck tingle. "He made that choice. You can say many things of Edward Elric, but you can't say he's stupid. He knew the risks, and he chose to do the right thing anyway." A slight tightening of her grip around his waist. "And so did you."

"Damn it all, Riza, he – !" The sound of Riza's hoarse intake of breath stopped him in his tracks, and he bit down on his instinctive anger. Just because it was Riza telling him the things he didn't want to hear, that didn't mean it was okay to take out his helpless feelings on his most loyal companions. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I just – "

"I know, sir. I know."

Roy closed his eyes and let the comfortable silence flood back in, wrapping his arms around himself to grip Riza's wrists in his best attempt at the hug she so desperately needed too. Somehow, they'd both thought that everything could be okay once they rescued Edward. It had been there in every determined glance they shared, the unspoken certainty that this was the right course of action. They'd given no thought to what might happen afterwards. And now… it seemed inconceivable that anything _could_ happen ever again. Unless…

_Knock knock._

The pair both tensed up at the seemingly innocent sound of a fist rapping on the front door downstairs. Frozen stock still, they didn't dare to move a muscle as they waited, every sense straining to hear, maybe even _feel_ the next knock coming. Although Roy couldn't see Riza's face, he knew that, as usual, they were thinking the same thing. _Nobody knew where they were. Nobody could _possibly _know. _After a while, they began to relax, thinking it had just been a quick call, or maybe the unwanted guest had just upped and left, but then it came again, louder, more insistent.

_Knock knock __**knock.**_

Riza was breathing fast behind him, her grip loosening as she prepared to launch into action. He held up a hand sharply and felt her still, then nod against his back and release him, trusting him to make the first move. Barely daring even to breathe, Roy crept out onto the landing and crouched by the antique banisters, his hand wrapping round one of the carved mahogany beams for support as he reached round to snag his white gloves from his back pocket. Below him, Major Armstrong's Aunt Anna-May was lurking in a doorway out of sight of the frosted glass of the front door, looking relieved as she spotted him on the floor above. He shook his head sharply as he slipped one glove on, and she nodded in acquiescence as she took a step back, eyes still fixed on the Colonel with obvious military training.

_Knock… knock._

The blurry figure behind the glass shifted impatiently, peering through the frosted glass in the hope of seeing some movement. Still, Roy refused to be rushed. Swallowing to calm his nerves, he next looked to the doorway to the kitchen, through which was the old larder… where their illegal treasure lay a hair's breadth from death. A head slid into view, slow enough not to be noticed by the figure behind the frosted glass, but instantly noticed by Roy's waiting eyes. Havoc was biting his lip in place of a cigarette, and once he'd caught Roy's eye, he managed a half-grin and a nod. _Good. _They'd managed to hide Ed, then. As for Roy, he would hide if necessary… if there were too many for his glove, at least.

A quiet click next to him signified Riza's appearance beside him, slipping down to one knee as she cocked her pistol and aimed it at the still-closed door. Roy felt reassured. Yes, his gloves were more than lethal enough to take care of the intruder, but if there was only one, a bullet through the skull would be a lot quicker, easier and less risky than an inferno in a mostly-wooden house.

One last deep breath. One last mental picture of Ed's stricken face, of that hoarse, broken little voice whispering over and over, "Murderer, murderer, _murdereeer…_" One last memory of just what they were fighting to protect.

Roy caught Anna-May's wide blue eyes, and nodded just once.

_**[A/N: To all those who tell us every week that cliffhangers are mean and/or evil and/or the work of the Devil… er, I disagree. And I think I've corrupted Morgan too. Er… sorry about that.]**_


	12. Author Note: Bad News

**I just wanted to let everyone know that my brother, Michael, has passed away. He passed away on March 2nd, about 4:15am. He has been struggling with Ewing Sarcoma (a primitive cancer) for under a year now and I guess a cure just wasn't meant to be.**

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**I know a lot of you are going to wonder just _how_ exactly did the cancer kill him, or just what happened in general. So I'll tell you. The chemo and radiology didn't work. There were still tumors growing. The tumors that were in his lungs were what killed him. He woke up February 29th, around 6:30am, unable to breathe, and our father took him to the hospital. **

**I arrived at the hospital around 4pm-ish. Our whole family was there (the close ones) and I left later that night around 10:30pm. The next day, the Doctors had successfully put my brother into a drug induced coma. It was for his pain. He was in far too much pain and he couldn't understand _why_ due to his autism. All he knew was he was "sick". So the doctors suggested to my Mom and Dad to put him in a coma and they decided it was for the best.**

** I stayed all day and all night. It was just my Mom, my Dad, my Aunts (my Dad's sisters), my sister, and my cousin. I fell asleep at the hospital around 12:30 am (of March 2nd) and my Aunt woke me up a few hours later, telling me Michael was starting to slip away. **

**When I went into the room my brother took about three long breaths, that seemed to take forever, and the nurses had a stethoscope placed on his chest and after that third breath, they declared him dead. And I can say, in full confidence, that he had no discomfort and that it was as quick and painless as death can come. He literally went in his sleep, painless, and that's much more than I could ask for. **

**Those tumors in the end had taken my brother's use of his left arm (for nearly the entire time he had cancer), and at the very end of it it took use of his legs. For the last week of his life he couldn't walk, due to the tumor in his spine. **

**I can also say, the last thing he ever did, before the medicine made him go to sleep, was that he demanded his Xbox 360, and he played his video game for a few minutes. Lego Star Wars. It made me smile despite everything that was happening. And even without his left arm to use, he used his chin and mouth to replace it. He always adapted to everything. The cancer, the loss of use of his left arm, and even his legs. **

**And just because he was autistic, didn't mean he absolutely did not know what was going on. He did say, "I'm scared" at the hospital, before he went into his coma. But everyone was there for him, and he was never, _ever_ alone. Not once was he alone during his cancer. My father was always by his side, even during his chemo, he stayed at the hospital with him.**

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**I knew that moment, when he was gone, that I would've absolutely, without hesitation, given** _anything_ **to save him. Anything at all. He deserved his life far more than I deserve mine. I would've given him my life if it would've saved him. But obviously that's all fairy tales and cloud fluffs. There wasn't to be a happy ending. And I've learned how terribly unfair life is... and how short it can be.**

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**But now, my brother's suffering is over. I know it's a relief to say he isn't suffering anymore, but I don't believe any of this should've happened in the first place.**

**An innocent, 16 year old boy, with autism, who's never really been able to express himself due to his autism, was still pretty damned happy every day. He always found something to do, and was always jumping and laughing and I don't think I've seen someone love life more than him. He took all of life's complications, and unfairness, and was still _happy_. Even when he got cancer, even when he lost all of his hair, even when he loss nearly 100lbs, even when he couldn't eat. He was still _smiling and happy._**

**And he will forever be the strongest and bravest person I know. **

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**http :/imageshack. us/f/96/michaelrussell. jpg/ -(remove spaces, after 'http', and after both of the periods)**

**Rest in Peace, Michael. Your big sister will always love you.**

**Sorry for the false chapter, guys, but I thought it'd be fair for those of you who were sending so many kind and supportive emails and messages rooting for my brother's recovery. Thank you.**


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